We'll Live and Die in These Towns
by TheViewFromTheAfternoon
Summary: "You and me, Shepard, we're two of a kind; always were, always will be."—That was his biggest mistake, thinking that he understood me; that he could ever trust me. Because, despite what Crawford thought back when we were kids, we were never friends. And mine? I guess my only mistake was thinking that I could ever escape my past.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

"Damn it, who in hell is that now?" I grumble, scowling towards the front door and whoever's out there hammering on it as I pull on my shirt. "Why does someone always show up when we're about to go somewhere? Are you expecting anyone?"

Leigh shakes her head at me as she turns away from the mirror where she's fixing her make-up. "No, but it's alright, Tim, I'll go. It's probably just the kids from next door after their football again—either that or it's your brother on the off chance he's timed it right for dinner."

"No, he's working tonight. And besides, since when did Curly ever wait to be let in?"

"Yeah, true." She smiles at me, the loud knocking repeating itself as she heads out of our bedroom and down the hall.

Quickly fastening my shirt buttons I head back across to the bathroom, about to run a comb through my hair, when Leigh calls out to me.

"Tim? Can you... Will you...I mean, do you have a minute?" Her voice is shaky, her sentences incomplete.

And I'm not entirely sure why, but there's something about the way she says it, like she's trying not to panic, that unnerves me—so that I'm heading towards her quick as anything. Only out of all the people I was imagining it might be at the door, I never considered this possibility.

There are two police officers standing outside on the porch, arms folded as they glare at me. I come to a dead stop behind her, and my thoughts instantly turn to my family. That there's been some accident; something involving my brother, or Angela, maybe even my mother; that something terrible must have happened to one of them.

"What's going on? Leigh? Is everyone okay?" I ask.

"Timothy Shepard?" the shorter, stockier one of the cops asks, not bothering to hide the sneer on his face as he looks me up and down.

"Yeah, that's me." I step alongside my wife and slip my arm around her waist, just wanting this jerk to get to the point of whatever the hell it is he wants to say, to get it over with, because from the way he's acting it's me they're after, not turning up to bring some bad news to us.

"We need to ask you a few questions, regarding an incident in West's Bar last night. We understand you were there during the evening?"

"Yeah, for a little while." And now I find myself staring straight ahead at the cop, not especially keen to witness Leigh's reaction to the fact that the subject of our most recent argument—me spending half the night there yesterday without so much as a phone call to her to say I'd be late, even when I'd expressly promised her I'd be straight home from work— has resulted in the fuzz turning up here looking for me.

"Then if you'd be so good as to come down to the station with us so we could go over a few things with you?"

"What? Right now?"

"Yes, Mr Shepard. Unless you're saying you're not prepared to help us," the second, younger cop says with a shrug; like he's almost hoping I'll say no and give him an excuse to exert his authority and drag me away with them. "I mean, we don't want to arrest you, but if you refuse to cooperate then—"

"Arrest him? Why? He's not done anything!" Leigh exclaims, grabbing a tight hold of my hand as she turns to face me. "Tim? What're they talking about? What's going on?" And then her attention is returned to the cops as she pushes them for more information. "What's happened?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's really nothing for you to worry about. All we need us for your husband to come give us a statement at the moment, it'll be the easiest thing all round."

"But—"

I can see the worry in her eyes, can only imagine her mind working overtime on all the bad things I might possibly have got myself involved in after the way things have been going this past few weeks so I try to force a smile onto my face and interrupt her; attempt to make myself sound confident despite having an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that going with them is the very last thing I should be doing. Because honestly, the reason they're here on my doorstep is as big a mystery to me as it is to her. I haven't been in no real trouble for so long now—not had a single run in with the law in the five years since I got out of McAlester back in '67—that this doesn't seem real. It all feels like it's a bad joke.

"It's alright, darling, it's probably just some misunderstanding. I'll go help them out and answer their questions. I'll be back before you know it. We'll go out a little later, it doesn't have to spoil our plans." And with that I kiss her then rest my hand against her cheek for a couple of seconds, lean in and whisper my goodbyes in a futile effort to reassure her. "Hey, don't cry. I ain't done nothing I shouldn't have, I promise." And then turn my gaze back to the cops as I step out onto the porch, shoving my hands deep in my pockets and doing my best impression of not giving a shit that they're taking me down the station and I still don't have a clue why. "Okay, I'm ready, let's get this done then."

But as I sit here in the back of the police cruiser as it speeds across town, watching the all too familiar streets whizz by, I find my mind wandering, remembering all the times I've been in this position before. More times than I'd care to admit to at one stage, until I wised up and got a whole lot smarter at covering my tracks and not getting caught.

Because there was a time when I spent far too often getting picked up and driven down the station. All the robbing stores, and hot wiring motors or stealing hubcaps I did as a kid, back when I first got drawn into the gang stuff and way before I was ever the one running the show. Doing whatever Shaun Crawford told me, no questions asked, because that was simply the way it worked back then.

Find my mind drifting back to that first encounter with him, all those years ago—the one that resulted in my very first ride in the back of a cop car.

oOo

"Hey, kid, come here. What's your name?"

The guy is sizing me up—trying to figure me out, I guess—so I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and try to look cool, like I ain't bothered one way or another how this meeting works out. Like I don't need this to go well.

"Shepard. And you are?" I ask, even though I know exactly who he is, even if we haven't ever spoken directly to each other before. Because everyone around our neighbourhood knows Shaun Crawford, on account of his reputation as a no-good punk; the brains behind most the petty crime on our side of town who fancies himself as some kind of leader, and figures he can rule our part of town like the gangs do over at Tiber Street or out at Brumly.

He doesn't even acknowledge my question though, just keeps his eyes trained on me as he throws another query of his own at me instead. "So how old are you, Shepard?"

"Does it matter, if I can do the job as well as any of them can?" I gesture towards the group of boys standing behind him as they watch our conversation unfolding, can see Nick raising his eyebrows as he frowns at me. Guess he's worried that if this all goes to shit it'll reflect badly on his standing in the gang—being as he's the one who's brought me along here today.

Only this Crawford, he just chuckles to himself and then offers me a cigarette. I ain't exactly much of a smoker yet, but I spent enough time around the old man and his friends to know how guys like this work; know it won't be a smart idea to refuse him.

"No, I guess not. But if you want in the crew then I've got to be sure; I ain't interested in recruiting no little babies who'll go running their mouths off or bawling to their mama anytime there's a little bit of trouble."

Jesus, he sure has a high opinion of how tough he is, even though he can't be all that much older than me— I'd say maybe three or four years, tops, if I had to guess.

"I know how to handle myself, keep my mouth shut." The old man made sure of that—even if it was most likely the only useful thing he ever did for me before he died.

"Yeah, I bet you do." Crawford grins at me, but it ain't a friendly smile. "Only I still need you to answer the question, Shepard. 'Cause to get on around here you've got to understand one thing. _I'm_ the one in charge. So if _I_ ask you something, then _you_ answer. Understand?" He pauses for a second and stares at me, waiting for my response.

I wait as long as I'm prepared to risk it, counting the seconds off in my head while I make a show of pulling some matches from my pocket to light my cigarette, before I finally answer him. "Yeah, I understand."

"So?" he demands, taking a drag on his own smoke as he waits for me to elaborate.

"I'm coming up for eleven," I claim, even though it won't be my birthday for another six months. But I figure he doesn't need to know that right now; not when from what I've seen so far tonight I've got to be about the youngest here, 'cause even Nick's had his birthday already this year. Bad enough being the new kid, without having my age count against me too.

"Well alright then." He gestures towards two other boys, closer to his own age, who are currently sitting on the low wall at the back of the park. "Tell you what, you go with Jones and Richards, do whatever the hell they tell you and if you do a good job and I'll see about bringing you into the gang on a more permanent basis."

Nodding, I walk away, falling into step behind the two of them as they head out onto the sidewalk.

"Where are we going then?" I ask eventually, as we get to the corner and they take a left turn.

Jones looks back at me, and grins. "You know the liquor store down past the post office? Well, we're gonna go help ourselves to a little of the stock, see if the old man who runs it was dumb enough to leave any cash in there too."

"Yeah?" I ask. "You got a plan worked out then?"

"Nah, there's no need, it's gonna be a piece of cake."

oOo

But as the car pulls to a stop alongside the police station and the younger cop barks at me to get out, it hits me.

Don't know why I was so stupid that I didn't make the connection before. Because it surely can't be no coincidence me getting pulled in so soon after Crawford pitched up in my life again after all these years—especially not when he was one of the people I was there drinking with last night.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, this is a combination of a couple of ideas I've had in mind for a while, looking at both Tim's future, and past. The Outsiders belong to SE Hinton, and the title is from the song of the same name by The Enemy. This is set in the same world as all my other Outsiders fics; you don't need to have read them for this to make sense, although there are a number of recurring characters, especially from my other Tim fics.

I really hope you enjoy it, so please let me know what you think or if you're interested in reading more:)


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't know anything. Someone will be along to talk to you real soon though," the uniform in the door says, shooting me an unconvincing smile as he thanks me yet again for my cooperation.

Ninety minutes I've been sat here, in this stuffy, airless interview room, without so much as a glass of water. And despite the show of him being so polite to me, I'm well aware that it ain't like I've really got any choice in this no more, 'cause I'm pretty sure that there's no way they'll be letting me just up and walk out the door without their say so. Not now they've got me in here.

I need to find out what it is they think I'm caught up in—or more to the point, what they're gonna try to pin on me. Guess I was an idiot to think I could ever escape my record in this town. I've let myself get lulled into some false sense of security these last few years 'cause I actually let myself start to believe that I could have some kind of ordinary life. You know the kind where you find a girl and settle down; get to live out my days quietly without forever having to look over my shoulder for what might go wrong next. Should have known that it would all go wrong in the end, that it had all been too good to be true. Life don't ever really change for someone like me.

And then, finally, some stocky looking plain clothes guy wanders in, pulls out a chair and sits opposite me then smiles like he's my best friend, while his scrawny, balding partner skulks into the corner where leans against the wall before he lights himself a cigarette.

"Well, thank you so much for coming down here, Mr Shepard, I'm sorry we kept you waiting so long," the first, older guy says, though I can't exactly miss the sarcasm buried beneath his words. "I'm Detective Evans, that there is Murphy," he adds, gesturing towards the other guy.

"Okay. So how can I help you then?"

"You don't deny you were in West's Bar last night?" Evans lounges back on his chair, arms folded, as he waits for my reply.

"No. Any reason I should? I mean, you obviously know I spent some time down there or we wouldn't be sitting here right now."

He smiles again, but doesn't bother to answer my question. "So how about you tell us a little more about that?"

I swallow, run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, wonder why this is so damn hard for me to do; why even now, talking to the cops just don't seem right. Probably because no matter what they say, they're never on our side—not if you live on our side of town. No, you just suck it up, keep quiet and take whatever they throw at you without complaining.

oOo

"So I hear you did good, kid," Shaun says grinning at me as he steps out in front of me as I turn the corner of our street. I wasn't expecting to see him here, didn't think he even knew where we live. But I guess he ain't leader for nothing, and it ain't like it'd be difficult to find us, I guess, on account of us being the talk of the block, still, after what happened with the old man last year.

"Yeah?" I jam my hands in my pockets and glare at him. "No thanks to those other two idiots, running off like a pair of girls and leaving me to take the shit for them."

Being taken home by the cops sure didn't go down well at home—I even left the house extra early this morning to go to school so I didn't have to listen to Ma bitching at me another time, and I ain't exactly in no hurry to get back there now either.

"So what did you tell them then, when they took you down the station?"

"Nothing."

I know better than talking to the cops. Dad never would have, would have settled things himself—so I'll bide my time, figure out some way I can use this to my advantage. Eventually.

Crawford steps closer, grabs the front of my shirt, his voice low and menacing. "So how come they let you out so quick then?"

"I dunno; some shit about letting me off with a warning, on account of it being the first time I got caught doing something."

"You sure about that, Shepard?" He tightens his grip on me, pushes me back towards the wall. "That you didn't go spilling everything to them while you were there? None of us boys are gonna get the cops coming round asking questions are we? 'Cause if I find out you grassed any one of us up then your life ain't gonna be worth living. Understand?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I ain't no snitch," I snap, twisting out of his hold and shoving his hand away from me. "But you know what, if you don't believe me then that's your problem. I ain't hanging around here to be called no liar. See you around, Shaun." And I don't wait for a reply, just turn and saunter away from him as calmly as I can muster—even though I know it's a gamble, that if he takes me at my word and cuts me off from this gang then I ain't sure where I'll fit in around here.

I'm almost on the other side of the street—and convinced I've just made the wrong choice—when he's calling out to me, "Hey, kid, relax. So d'you want to earn some easy money?"

Shrugging, I turn to look at him. "Maybe. So long as I ain't stuck with them two idiots again."

"Nah," he says, cracking a grin at me, "this time you can come help me with something."

oOo

So despite the uneasy feeling I've got, I force myself to smile, make like I'm happy to cooperate."Sure, what exactly do you want to know?"

Because I'm not a kid anymore and I'm smart enough to know there's more ways to handle this than sullen silence. I don't have no desire to piss this guy off and spend any longer in here than I have to. I just need to find out exactly what it is they know—or think they know—about last night and I figure my best chance of that is to at least sound like I'm helping him.

"Everything, then we'll decide if it's relevant. Tell you what, I've got a couple questions to get you started, help refresh your memory. Do you go there regular, know the place well?"

"No, not really."

"But is it fair to say that you have been in there pretty regular in the last few weeks?"

"I guess so."

"So why the sudden change of habit?"

"I—it was at...I went there to meet someone, because he suggested the place."

"And that was who?"

"Shaun. Shaun Crawford."

At the mention of his name, Evans straightens up just a fraction in his chair and watches me a little more obviously as he asks yet another question. "And this Mr Crawford, is he a good friend of yours?"

"No, not really."

"So why were you suddenly so keen to be spending time with him, going wherever he told you to?"

I shrug at him, watch as his partner takes a long drag on his cigarette and wish I had a smoke of my own about now. "He's just someone I used to knock about with, back when I was a kid. He came back to town about a month ago and looked me up."

oOo

It's only when I step into the hallway and call out a hello to her that I realise that there's already someone else in the house. But even though he seems to spend half his time here lately it ain't my brother, 'cause his car's not parked up out front and he doesn't walk nowhere if he can avoid it since he bought that new motor of his. But then it can't be Sylvia or one of Leigh's other friends from work, 'cause it's most definitely a guy's laughter I can hear—and there's something real familiar about it that I can't exactly place right now.

"Afternoon, Tim," the visitor says, getting to his feet as I walk into the sitting room, stretching out his hand for me to shake.

I find myself staring back, uncertain what to say to probably the last person I ever expected to see making himself at home here in my house.

He cracks a grin at me, laughs a little. "What, ain't you even got a hello for an old buddy, Tim?"

"What in hell are you doing here, Shaun?" I manage to ask, folding my arms.

"Well, it's like I was saying to your good lady here, I got back in town real recent and decided it was time to look up a few old friends. And of course, you were near the top of that list, Shepard."

"Yeah, course I was."

He casts his gaze around the room, smiles at her, before focusing back on me. "Nice place you've got here, Tim. Seems like you're doing alright for yourself these days. Hardly recognised you, what with you looking so respectable and all," he says, gesturing towards me.

Guess I have changed a little—my hair's a little shorter these days, clothes a little less worn than they ever used to be.

"And? It's got to be, what? Ten years, maybe, since I last saw you? So it ain't like I'm gonna look the same as I did back in those days, is it?"

"Hell, Tim, there really ain't no need to be like that about it all." He laughs a little, grins over at Leigh again. "All I want is to catch up some. You know, chat about the old times, maybe have a beer or two with you and remember the good old days."

Leigh's still sat on the couch, looking real confused as she glances between us and I wonder dimly if she actually knows what his connection to me really is. I guess she might remember him by reputation at least; from back when he was the one in charge of everything and she used to hang around with Sylvia more, when I'd be knocking around with Nick and we were both getting into stuff that we'd have been better off leaving well alone. Before all that shit happened that caused him to skip town—and I ended up falling effortlessly into running things. Find myself wondering for the first time in a long time whether he maybe holds me responsible for how that all panned out; if that's the real reason why he's here, now.

One thing I am sure of though is that this sure as hell ain't no social call. Because despite whatever bullshit story he's saying to me or Leigh, Shaun Crawford never once did nothing that didn't benefit his own sorry ass in some way—and going by his whole fucking attitude as he stands there grinning at me I can't believe he's changed one tiny bit in all these years.

He shouldn't be here, definitely shouldn't be anywhere near to this life I've been trying to build for myself. I mean the whole point of us moving here and me sticking it out in some tedious fucking job in the first place was to put some distance between us and our past.

So taking him up on that offer and getting him out of here sounds like the best option.

Only then one look at Leigh reminds me I can't just agree that we go for a beer and disappear out the door with him without so much as one word of explanation to her.

"Yeah, okay. Only not tonight. How about I meet you somewhere tomorrow, about eight? Where are you staying?"

"Here and there," he replies with a shrug. "I'll be in West's, down near the bus station—d'you know it? Reckon we've got a lot of stuff to talk about, don't you Tim? A whole load of unfinished business." He smirks at me, like he thinks he's won whatever the hell this is, I guess.

But there ain't no way I'm planning on letting this toxic jerk ruin everything I've worked so damn hard for. "Yeah, I know it, I'll see you there then."

"Well, I guess I better get going." He takes a step across the room, a step too close to my wife for my liking as he leers at her, takes the opportunity to put an arm around her shoulders and kiss her as he makes his goodbyes. "Well, it sure was lovely getting to know you, Sweetheart, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again real soon."

He saunters towards the door, painfully slowly, until eventually he's gone, the door banging shut behind him. "Fucking asshole," I mutter, as I fight the urge to punch something, put my fist through the wall. Resort to kicking the sitting room door shut as my frustration gets the better of me.

"So what the hell was that all about, Tim?" Leigh asks, as she stands in front of me.

"Why the fuck did you let that jerk in here?" I demand.

"What's the big deal? I thought you two used to be friends? That's how he made it sound anyway. I wouldn't have let him stay, if I'd known it was gonna be a problem."

Sighing, I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me, do my best to sound calmer, even if I'm not feeling it. "Hey, I'm sorry, just took me by surprise seeing him after all this time. I ain't mad at you, I promise."

She glances up at me, brows furrowed. "What d'you think he really wants Tim? You clearly aren't pleased to see him, so why's he come round here again, after all these years?"

"Don't have a clue, but I guess there's only one way I'm gonna find out, isn't there?"

* * *

A/N: huge thanks to everyone who's been reading, following, favouriting and reviewing so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

"Mr Shepard?" the cop repeats, bringing me back to this claustrophobic room. "You were about to tell me why you were in the bar again last night?"

His partner, Murphy, decides it's time to join in the discussion too, stubs out his cigarette then pulls out the empty chair opposite me and settles into it, leans forward with his elbows on the table as he pipes up with a question of his own. "Yes, 'cause if this Crawford is ' _not_ _exactly_ ' your friend, then why in hell are you wasting your time drinking with him in some dive bar?"

I shrug a little, not really sure how best to answer that; reminded a little too much for comfort of Leigh's questions to me after Crawford turned up back in town and wormed his way back into my life again; pretty much the same question she'd challenged me with when I'd got finally got home last night. The one I ain't got no real answer for that makes any sense—not now, anyways.

What feels like another couple of hours passes by, not that there's a clock in here, so I've no real clue of the time. And we've been over it a hundred different ways—who else I saw there; all the people I spoke to; who said what to who; what exact time I left. But yet they're still asking me questions and not telling me anything about the real reason why they've really brought me here.

"So, you're saying you left there at around nine. And did you go straight home? Didn't take no detours or stop off anywhere else?"

"Yeah, I drove straight back to my house. Why wouldn't I?"

"All sorts of reasons, Mr Shepard, you'd be surprised what we hear from some people. I mean you could have carried on drinking elsewhere. Or," and Murphy smirks across at his buddy, laughs a little before he continues, "you might have some girl on the side somewhere who you want to spend time with, without the wife finding out. Telling her you've been out drinking with some old friend would be a good cover for something like that."

"No. I went home," I insist, "ask my wife if you like, she'll be able to tell you what time I got in."

oOo

"Evening, Leigh."

I loiter in the kitchen doorway, watching her as she works at washing a stack of plates and pans before crossing the room and slipping my arms around her waist. Closing my eyes, I lose myself for a couple of seconds as I take in the warmth of her body against mine and the so-familiar fragrance of her perfume—the scent that always reminds me of good times, of why I'm doing all of this in the first place, how much I still want to be with her after all these years. But she doesn't so much as glance round—doesn't even acknowledge I'm there—makes it real obvious she's already pissed at me without her having to say a single word.

"You okay?" I ask. Dumb question really, when it's clear she ain't, but I just want her to quit with ignoring me and say something.

"There's food in the oven. If you actually want it; it was chicken, a couple hours ago, but it's probably not exactly gonna be good now," she finally mutters back, still not looking at me as she continues scrubbing at a pan.

"Darling, I'm sorry, but something came up and I needed to deal with it," I offer, but just get more angry words in response.

"Yeah? So d'you care to tell me what was so damn important that you couldn't even pick up a phone and call me?" She scowls at me over her shoulder, setting the pan roughly down on the draining board, and plunging another dish into the soapy water.

"You look good, is this new?" I ask, taking in her appearance as I turn her to face me, my hands resting on her hips as I hold her close to me, kissing her softly, willing her to let this drop, to not make a big issue out of this. Not wanting another fight, not when we seem to have fought more this past four weeks than in the four years we've been married.

But she shrugs at me, frowning still. "Quit trying to change the subject, Tim, and just tell me where it is that you've been this time. I thought after what happened last week, when you promised me—"

"Listen," I murmur, interrupting her as my hand drifts upwards, tangles in her hair as I brush it back from her face, "I get it, you're mad at me, and I deserve it, but—"

"But what, Tim?" she asks, slapping my hand away. "It's pretty obvious you haven't been stuck at work all this time, so don't you dare go giving me no bullshit excuses. Not tonight."

Just quite how angry she actually seems takes me by surprise. I mean I sure as hell knew she'd be annoyed with me—worried even—but nothing this extreme, 'cause she's never normally capable of staying mad at anyone for very long, doesn't ever hold a grudge. No, I'm the only one in this house who usually has a problem with shit like that.

And yet right now it feels like she can't stand to be anywhere near me. Find myself feeling tense and irritated in return; a combination of the booze I sunk in the bar earlier and all I've had to deal with already tonight making me want to prolong the argument—even though I know I should just suck it up and apologise 'cause rowing about this ain't gonna solve nothing in the long run.

"So I'm a bit late. What's the fucking problem?"

"A bit late? Three hours isn't what I'd call a ' _bit late_ ', Tim."

"And I don't see why you're making such a big deal out of this."

"You've really got no idea?" she asks, doesn't give me a chance to reply though. "So did you just forget that your brother was bringing your mom over tonight, like _you_ told him to? Or is it that you honestly don't give a damn? I looked like a real idiot, sitting here not having the first clue why you couldn't be bothered to show up."

Leigh ducks away from me, picking up a towel and roughly wiping her arms and hands dry.

"Shit," I mutter, "it slipped my mind."

"Well yeah, I figured." She folds her arms as she leans against the counter.

"So let me make it up to you?" I offer as I close the distance between us again, disappointed but not exactly surprised when she takes a step backwards, maintains the gap.

"I can't believe you didn't remember, Tim, it was just awful. You know what your mom's like when she gets fixated on something, I had to sit here, having her say all that shit over and over all evening." Her voice trails away, her eyes on anything but me now.

"Why, what's she been going on about this time?" I demand, even though I've got a fair idea already. The same things Ma keeps going back to time and again, ever since we got married.

Leigh swallows, closes her eyes for a half second as she composes herself, forces a smile on her face that does nothing to hide how upset she really is, because she still won't look at me—not properly.

"Oh, you know. Giving me a hard time about how you not being home must all be down to something I've done, how crap I am. And, well...the usual..."

Yeah, the usual. My Ma's determination to keep telling me—and Leigh—on a regular basis how she thinks I should have never married her. How she's so keen to blame Leigh for the fact that having a family just don't seem to be happening for us, even after four years of being married. All the shit she rambles on about that no one pays attention to—no one except Leigh, who seems to take it to heart more and more as the years pass by and things change for everyone but us.

"Jesus, you know you shouldn't take no notice. Why d'you even listen to her?"

"What choice do I have, Tim? That's easy to say when you didn't even bother to be here, but I can't exactly tell her to get lost, can I? Not when you've invited her over. I'm just fed up of how she thinks everything's my fault all the time. But then it's not like she's ever gonna blame you for anything, is it?"

And even though I know I should be apologising, telling her that what my Ma says ain't true, and that things'll work out for us eventually, I still find myself snapping back at her like some petulant little kid.

"Yeah, right, 'cause Ma's always got so many good things to say about me too, hasn't she?"

"Well at least Curly stuck around so I didn't have to deal with her by myself," she retorts, "it was nice to have _someone_ here who was on my side for once."

"Maybe you picked the wrong Shepard to marry then?" I sneer, folding my arms. "Least he wouldn't let you down all the fucking time."

"Jesus, Tim. Seriously?" Leigh pauses, sighs, looks like she's about to say more. And I'm fully expecting her to carry on bitching at me, but she just shakes her head, rubs at her forehead. "I—you're unbelievable sometimes, and I'm sick and tired of listening to all of your crap," she mutters, before sidestepping me, heading out the back door into the yard.

I pull open the fridge and grab a beer. Popping the cap off I take a slug, figure that perhaps I ought I to give her some breathing room, take a little time for us both to calm down, but I'm still too wound up—from her whole damn attitude when all I've been doing tonight is trying my best to make things right for us again—that I can't just let it go.

Taking another gulp from the bottle, I slam the fridge door shut and find myself following her outside instead; a dozen different things running through my mind as I prepare for continuing with this argument.

But as I step out into the cool evening air, one look at her sitting out there on the bench seat behind the house—seeing how completely she's crumbled now she thinks I ain't watching her, as she rests her head in her hands and tears slide down her cheeks—causes all my bitter, mean words to stick in my throat. Instead I sink down beside her, slide an arm around her shoulders and pull her to me, hold her close as I smooth a hand over her hair and kiss the top of her head. Wait in silence as her sobbing subsides and her shoulders stop shaking.

"What's going on, Tim. Since when could we not talk about stuff? Just feels like I hardly know you right now. If it's me, if you've changed your mind and you don't want to be here no more, then just tell me. Don't make this harder than it already is."

"What the hell, Leigh?" I ask, stunned that she even thinks I could be considering that option. "No that ain't it. Listen, I'm sorry. For shouting; for being a dick; hell, for everything stupid thing I've done this past month. But things are gonna be different now, better. I've sorted it all out for good this time."

"What that supposed to mean?" Her head snaps up, and she studies me, fixes me with a questioning look. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," I insist, "just means I'm not getting involved in anything with Crawford ever again."

"Really?" she asks, her tone sceptical. "'Cause you told me pretty much the same thing last week. But then you still chose to go back there tonight. Just don't know what to believe any more."

"Look, I know I've been a jerk, but I let Shaun get to me; all his talk just made it seem like I was missing out on something. But I'm done with him, with taking stupid risks. You don't have to worry no more 'cause I've handled it. That's the only reason I went there tonight, to make sure he understood that I was done with him and his dodgy schemes once and for all."

She sniffs a little, drags her hand across her face to wipe away the last remaining tears. "You promise?"

"Yeah, I promise." Only I can't quite meet her gaze, reckon she'll see straight through my half-truths if I do.

"Well, alright." She nods at me then leans her head against my shoulder, takes a hold of my hand. "But can you go ring your mother, and tell her you're alright? Otherwise she'll only be up all night working herself into a state about what she's imagining has happened to you."

"Okay, in a minute," I agree, not wanting to move away and break this moment of calm between us quite yet. "Listen, how about tomorrow night, we go out, just the two of us, do something nice, dinner or something? I know I've been lousy lately but you don't need to worry about any of that any more, Leigh, 'cause Shaun Crawford ain't gonna bother us ever again."

oOo

"Oh, we'll be speaking to her at some point, Mr Shepard, don't you worry about that." Murphy pauses, lights himself another cigarette. "So we've reports that you were seen to be involved in some disagreement with another couple of the patrons in the bar, this so-called friend of yours, Mr Crawford? And some other friend of his, a Mr Harris, who left shortly before you. So are you positive you didn't decide to go after him instead, that you didn't want to put him in his place, shut him up once and for all?"

"No, why would I? He was just some asshole with a big mouth is all."

"Are you sure about that? Because apparently you were heard making threats against him."

"No. That ain't true."

"Okay." Evans gets to his feet, and for a half second I think he's gonna let me out of here, that this is finally over. Except he gestures to the uniform hovering outside the door to pass him something, settles back in his chair and flicks through the file then runs his finger down the page until he finds what he's looking for, makes a big show of quoting something that's been written on there. "So are you saying our other witnesses were mistaken? And that you weren't heard 'threatening to kill him, if you ever saw him again'?"

"What? No. Why? What's happened to him? What the hell is going on?"

But yet again my questions are brushed aside as he throws another query back at me. "Really? You care to elaborate on precisely what you did say to him then?"

"I told him that if he ever..." I pause; stare down at my hands, the fading bruises and my scabbed knuckles. I think about making up something, selling them some story. But then Harris had been loud enough, made enough of a scene that half the bar must have heard what we said to each other, and they've likely got more than one witness anyway. So maybe lying about it ain't the best choice after all. Clearing my throat, I figure I might as well get on with it, no matter how bad it sounds on the surface. "If he ever said shit like that again, _then_ I'd kill him."

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks as always to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You're all fantastic! Hope you liked this chapter too :)


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"Of course I didn't mean it," I reply, leaning back in my chair and relaxing my hands—hoping I look casual, like I ain't bothered by their continued questions or the fact they're both watching me so carefully right now. "It was just shit talk in a bar. Nothing more."

"You expect us to believe that?" Murphy asks, elbows on the table as he leans forwards; his expression is smug, like he thinks he's got me backed into a corner, that I'm the guy they're after for whatever the hell it is they're investigating.

I shrug at him. "You mean to say you've never said something like that to some jerk who's been winding you up all night when you've had a couple of beers? Don't mean I was gonna follow through on it, does it?"

"I don't know about that, Mr Shepard. 'Cause you see, we've seen your record—and it seems to me that you've got form for this kind of thing. What was it you got? Three years in McAlester? Out on parole after serving half of that? For armed robbery, shooting some defenceless kid in a store? Reckon you got off lightly with that sentence."

Well, it don't really come as no big surprise to me that they're dragging all of that up. Because they don't know the real truth of that—that what's on my record ain't what actually went down; how it was a setup, and while I might have been there, I wasn't the one pulling the trigger.

"What's that got to do with anything? Somebody get shot? 'Cause I don't own a gun. And I ain't been in trouble since then, did everything they asked of me to meet my parole terms—does it tell you that on my records too?"

But Murphy carries on, don't even acknowledge that I've spoken. "Then before that. Looks like you spent more than your fair share of nights in the cells for fighting. Then you had that stint in the reformatory, when you were, what, thirteen? Put someone in the hospital that time too, didn't you? So it seems you've got form for violent crime. That wife of yours know what kind of man you are, Mr Shepard? Maybe you kept that a secret from her—or d'you keep her in line the same way?"

"What? No!" I exclaim, before I can stop myself. Jesus. I know he's only trying to wind me up, push my buttons to make me lose my cool—'cause while I've done my fair share of stuff I'm not proud of over the years and hurt a whole lot of people, I ain't ever done nothing like what he's insinuating—it still surprises me how close I feel to lashing out at him. How much I'd like to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

Instead, I fidget in my chair a little, count to ten over and over as I try to stay calm while Murphy just sits there and stares at me, and Evans makes like he's studying one if the files he's got in front of him.

"And you still haven't enlightened us on what it was he said and did to piss you off so badly that you felt the need to threaten him like that," Murphy continues.

But I've had enough of this pussyfooting around. Need to try to take back what little control I've got left of this situation. While I still can. "No, I haven't. So how about you tell me exactly what in hell is going on here that some crap I said in a bar is so important to you? Otherwise I reckon we're about done, don't you?"

The two of them exchange a glance, Evans remains silent, but nods ever so slightly, making obvious what I've been suspecting—that he's the one in charge here despite his attempts to give off an easy-going vibe. And so Murphy reaches for the file, pulls out a few photos and spreads them out on the table in front of me.

Pictures of Harris, barely recognisable, lying in a hospital bed connected to all sorts of machines and wires, covered in cuts and bruises, both eyes swollen shut. And aside from during my stint in McAlester I ain't seen no-one beat up that badly for quite some time. Hell, it's got to be close to ten years, despite all the countless fights I've ever been in over the years. But even so, it don't exactly come as a surprise. I'd recognise that handiwork anywhere.

oOo

Three years I've been hanging around with Shaun and the gang now, seen people come and go, proved my worth to his set up and worked my way up the ranks. So while I might still be one of the youngest, I sure as hell ain't the most junior no more. Done enough that Shaun'll even take account of what I've got to say—sometimes. And as Crawford's current number two, Ronnie Cassidy, finishes outlining some new scheme he's dreamt up, and Shaun turns to me, I'm hoping today is one of them days.

"Sounds like a decent enough idea. Anyone got anything they want to add?" Shaun casts his eye around the circle of us gathered around him, moved on from the park these days to hanging around The Dingo when we're not in Buck's place shooting pool.

Shaking a cigarette from the pack, I spark up my lighter, and listen to the rest of them making all the right noises; not even bothering to look up as I speak. "Yeah, it might sound good, but it ain't gonna work."

"What the fuck would you know about it, Shepard?" spits Ronnie as he leaps up on his feet in front of me, where I'm slouched against the edge of the neighbouring table and jabs me in the chest as he continues to speak. "You're nothing but a fucking asshole, always thinking you got an answer for everything, that you're some fucking genius who knows better than everyone else."

"Whatever." I mutter, taking a drag on my smoke. "Don't bother me none if you ain't interested in hearing what I've got to say. Only count me out, I ain't gonna get involved in some lame scheme I know has got no chance of succeeding. Might as well just cut out the middleman, go hand yourself in down the station, with what you're suggesting, Cassidy."

And I don't bother to wait for an answer from anybody. Just saunter past Ronnie towards the door, knocking into his shoulder while he curses at me, before starting up bitching and whining at Crawford like some spoilt little kid.

Takes a whole three minutes for Shaun to appear in the parking lot. Can see him striding over to me from the corner of my eye and I wonder whether I'm in for a beating from him now instead. 'Cause he ain't very keen on people speaking up against him at the best of times. 'Specially not if he thinks it makes him look bad in front of anyone else.

"So Ronnie thinks I ought to be pounding you face in about now, teaching you a lesson," he says with a grin as he sits next to me on the picnic table, smirks over at the group of girls hanging around the parking lot that I've been checking out, and who are suddenly a hell of a lot more interested in watching us now Shaun is out here too. "Something about how you got no respect for me and the gang if you're prepared to contradict him. What with him being second and all."

I snort at that. "Yeah, right, 'cause he'd know a lot about loyalty. Only person Ronnie Cassidy gives a shit about is himself."

"And what in hell is that supposed to mean?" Shaun demands, his voice giving away just how interested he is in what I've said, even if he don't tear his gaze away from that one particular girl he's keen on, the one who's heading across the parking lot in our direction right now.

Hopping down from the table, I shrug at him. "Let's just say I've got a few suspicions. How about you catch up with me tomorrow—reckon you've got other more important things to occupy you right now."

Don't make it more than two blocks away though, before his car is pulling up alongside me and he barks his orders at me through the rolled down window.

"Get in the damn car, Shepard."

"Why? Where're we going?" I ask. Although I'm already pulling the door open, doing as he says.

"So, what've you heard?" Crawford asks as I drop into the passenger seat of his car, barely waiting for the door to click shut before he guns the engine and races away.

Shaun drums his fingers on the steering wheel, doesn't turn his head, but I know he's getting impatient, that he's watching me out the corner of his eye, waiting for me to spill my suspicions.

"You gonna tell me what you found out or do I have to beat it out of you?" he finally snaps at me.

I shrug, crack a grin at him. "Yeah, okay. Seems that Ronnie ain't maybe quite so devoted to having your back as he makes out. Rumour has it that he's got some deal going on the side with Wayne Myers outta that other outfit that's started up. Y'know, the ones that hang out down the town, near the rail tracks and the warehouses. Call themselves the River Kings or some dumb shit like that."

"And you know this how exactly?"

Shaun don't take his eyes off of the road, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the white of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel.

"Something he said the other day made me suspicious, so I decided to follow him last night. See, that girl he's screwing around with, she's Myers' second cousin or something; seen the whole crowd of them hanging around together, drinking and smoking in Wayne's front yard. I mean, it'd be bad enough if he was only hanging around with them on account of his girl, 'cause he should know better than that what with the way they've been muscling in on our territory lately. But it ain't just socialising, no matter what it looks like on the surface. Ronnie's definitely got some business going on with him on the side, is too friendly, too at home there for it to be anything else."

"What kind of business?"

Shrugging, I light up a smoke. "Dunno. But whatever it is, I suppose the money's too good to turn down and he don't want to split it with any of us 'cause then he'd have to let on who his contact really is, how he's been going behind your back with this."

Shaun takes a sudden sharp left, starts to double back towards The Dingo as he grins at me. "Well, let's go see what he has to say about all this then, shall we? Now how about you open up the glove compartment, grab me what ever is in there and I'll see about teaching Ronald a lesson."

"What, right now?" I ask, as I pop the catch, fish around amongst the fast food wrappers and empty cigarette cartons and pull out a heavy piece of pipe, and a switch-blade.

"Yeah, Tim. Right now. Unless you're bullshitting me, trying to stir up trouble over nothing?"

"Nah. It's what I saw. Nothing more. Just figured you ought to know what's going on." Even if that isn't strictly true, and I'm hoping that it'll help me out too, establish my place a little higher up the pecking order of the gang. 'Cause with Ronnie out of the picture, there's more guys around that'd back me than not. If the time ever comes that I need them to.

"Good. You tell me the truth, then you'll be okay. But there's one thing you need to remember, kid, ain't nobody who gets away with double-crossing Shaun Crawford."

Find myself wondering if he's saying that to warn me, too, if he can see through me and knows I don't really give a fuck about Ronnie and his dealings any further than getting him out the picture will help me out. 'Cause Ronnie hasn't ever had time for me, has never trusted me as long as I've been in the gang. And with good reason too, I guess. 'Cause at the end of the day, aside from maybe Nick, I couldn't give a fuck about any of them.

But I don't say nothing, instead I nod my agreement and busy myself with examining the makeshift weapons another time, turning them over in my hands as he slows the car and pulls into the parking lot, where Nick and Ronnie and a couple of the other guys are standing over at the back. Chatting to the girls and goofing around. "So which d'you want?"

He cracks a grin at me, as he glances across at the objects I'm holding, grabs the switch and shoves it in his back pocket. "All of 'em." And then he's out of the car, shouting out a greeting as he strides across the gravel. "Hey, Ronnie, you gotta minute?"

"Sure." Ronnie shrugs, lazily ambles in our direction. "So what's the trouble, boss?"

"So I hear you been busy lately then, Ronnie? Making new friends?"

Ronnie shifts from foot to foot, glances at Shaun, at me as I stand close behind him, then across at the two or three remaining gang members who are all watching the pair of them intently. "What? You seriously been listening to that piece of shit?" he asks, jerking his head in my direction.

"Why? You telling me Shepard's a liar? That he's making it all up?" Shaun demands, taking another step closer.

Ronnie looks around again, runs a hand through his hair, swallows. And I guess that hesitation is answer enough for Shaun, 'cause he don't wait for Ronnie to reply, just catches him with a left hook so he stumbles to the ground, then kicks him a couple times hard in the ribs before crouching down next to him, his hand on Ronnie's throat. "You're out, Cassidy. And if I ever see you round here again, I'll fucking make it permanent, understand?"

And as Ronnie manages to nod, grunt out a strangled yes, I think maybe that's it, that Shaun's gonna leave it there. Only I couldn't be more wrong. Instead, he's out of control. Punching and hitting him over and over; grabbing the pipe outta my hands and setting about Ronnie with that, not even stopping when the sirens get louder and the cop car rolls onto the gravel.

"Come on Shaun! Get out of there!" Nick yells, as I shove Crawford away from Ronnie's battered body, snatch the pipe out of his hand. And I'm about to make a run for it, get rid of the evidence when I find myself being roughly manhandled by the fuzz as they fight their way through the watching crowd and spot the blood-flecked pipe still in my hands.

"I won't forget this, Tim, what you've done for me," Crawford murmurs, his bloodied, battered hands hidden deep in his pockets as the cops drag me past him towards the back of their car.

oOo

Only trouble is, as those words of Shaun's from back then run through my mind, I gotta feeling that it ain't _that_ particular time, or thing I did for him, that Crawford is thinking about repaying me for no more. Not with the way things are looking for me right now.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for reading, and for the reviews on the last chapter- hope you liked this one too :)


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

Murphy gathers back the photos, slides them back into the file and snaps it shut, pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. And for a half second I think we're done, that they've finally finished asking me questions and he's gonna say I can leave.

Which is ridiculous; wishful thinking on my part. Because any idiot can see they've barely got started on me if they're only just now letting me have some idea of what's really going on.

Evans stands up, stretches a little. Smiles that fake smile at me. "I think we'll take five minutes, Mr Shepard. Before we carry this on. Think we could all do with a short break. I'll have someone fetch you a coffee."

As the pair of them head out and the uniform appears back in the doorway, I find myself wondering if they've spoken to Crawford about this as well. If he's in another room like this right now being grilled by some other pair of assholes and that's what they're going to check up on. Or if he's the one who's been pointing them in my direction after all. If me being here was somehow part of his plan from the very start.

oOo

Pushing open the door of West's, I spot Shaun pretty much immediately. He's standing at the bar, a half-empty glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other as he chats away to some broad with a too short skirt and too much make-up. Same kind of girl he always used to have hanging off of his arm whenever we used to be wasting our time in Buck's; same kind of girl he'd be setting me up with back then too; the kind that I've got zero interest in hanging around with these days.

It would be easy to turn around, walk out the door before he even notices I'm here and just forget this. I'm still not sure why I decided to come here and meet with him, what I'm hoping to achieve. Guess my curiosity got the better of me, that need to know why he's looking me up after all these years. And I'm about to take a step back towards the door when he looks up, shouts out a greeting to me.

"Shepard! Thought you weren't gonna turn up, good to see you, man." And then he's signalling the barman and ordering drinks as he shrugs off the girl and shakes my hand, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Yeah. Well I'm here aren't I? So how about you cut the crap now it's just us and tell me exactly what it is that you want, Shaun?"

"Want? Jesus, Tim, thanks for the welcome back."

"Can you blame me? Ain't heard from you in years, then you turn up out the blue like that?"

"Suppose you always were an untrusting fucker." He shakes his head, rolls his eyes at me. "Like I told you yesterday, I just got back in town and figured I'd look up some of the old crowd. And you were the first one I came across. You still in touch with anyone else from back then?"

"Not really. Only Miller. But he ain't around at the moment."

"What, don't tell me Nick actually got sent down for something?" Shaun asks, laughing. "He always seemed to get the luck where the cops were concerned."

"Nah. He's overseas. In the army. Got his draft notice a couple years back, after the first ballot."

"Jesus. That's rough."

"Yeah." Take a swig of my beer, and try not to think about my closest friend. Over there, God knows where, 'cause no ones heard from him in a couple months now.

"From what I've seen you're doing alright for yourself though, Tim," he says, more of a statement than a question.

The girl he was with wanders back over, slips an arm around Shaun, smiling as she whispers something to him. Meanwhile her friend hovers around me, smiles as she rests her hand on my arm.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I ain't interested, so why don't you go elsewhere?" I mutter, brushing her away, relieved when the pair of them stalk off down the other end of the bar and start up chatting with some other bunch of guys propping up the bar there.

"Jesus, Tim. What happened to you? You were always the one for the ladies."

I shrug at him. "Yeah, well, we all grow up eventually, don't we?"

"What, that girl of yours rule the roost in your house? Keep you in line these days?" he asks with a smirk.

"Fuck off, Shaun. I ain't fourteen any more." Picking up my glass, I knock back the last of my beer. "You ain't gonna wind me up to do nothing I don't want to, 'specially not with some easy broad in a dive bar. So if all you're gonna do is waste my time then I'm out of here."

"For fuck's sake Shepard, sit down, relax. Have another beer. We've barely got started. I want to hear what I've been missing this last few years."

"Yeah, yeah, alright." And against my better judgement I sink back down onto a bar stool, nod at the barman and order another round, wait until the glasses are placed in front of us before I ask him a question of my own—the one I've been itching to ask since I clapped eyes on him yesterday. "So why d'you really come back to Tulsa, Shaun?"

"Just felt like the right time," he says with shrug.

And I know I should probably press him a bit more, try to find out what he's been doing and where all these years. But then a part of me wants to let it slide, 'cause I sure as hell don't want to get into any conversation over what exactly happened _that_ particular night to mean he couldn't come straight back here.

But luckily it seems he don't want to go there either, as he changes tack and starts up asking me shit about myself—where I'm working, how long I've been with Leigh, then telling me stories of places he's been to, and all that sort of general crap as we sink a few more drinks, before moving on to stories about the old days and reminiscing on all the shit we used to do as kids. So maybe I was worrying about nothing after all. Because we've been talking so fucking long that somehow, it's closing time, the barman is giving us dirty looks as he clears the tables, clinking glasses together, before he turns the jukebox off and makes it obvious we've gotta leave.

"Which way you headed?" I ask, as we stumble out into the chill of the dark night, feeling slightly worse for wear and wishing I'd brought a jacket, that I'd parked a little closer, that I'd not had those shots after the beers. "You need a ride? I'm parked down the block a ways."

"Yeah, sure." Shaun grins at me, falls into step beside me, and we're almost at my car when he nudges me, points across the street. "You remember that place?" he asks.

"How could I forget?" I mutter, my eyes falling on that liquor store—the first place I ever robbed on his say-so, the one where I got arrested.

"Come on," he says, let's take a look around."

And before I can say or do anything to stop him he's heading up the side of the building, into the dark alley, find myself following him.

"What on earth are you doing, Shaun?" I hiss, as he peers through the glazed door, before trying the handle, rattling it some, then putting the glass in with his elbow, making no effort to hide what he's doing. "Jesus, Crawford. What the hell?"

"Just like old times, hey, Tim?" He flashes a grin at me before disappearing inside, leaving me pacing awkwardly in the alley, unsure whether to follow him in or cut my losses and ditch him. I've about decided to get the hell out of there when he strolls back out the door, hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his face.

"What the—" I start up, but he interrupts me.

"Shut the hell up, Shepard, and let's get moving. Unless you want to get caught here again?"

And I follow him down the street. Like I'm a fucking kid again, doing whatever the hell he tells me. Shake myself to my senses and shove him into the wall of the next store along, grazing my knuckles on the brickwork as I hold him there. "What's your game, Shaun? You trying to get me arrested or something?"

"Nah, man, course not. But you've got to admit, it's a bit of a buzz ain't it? Doing something like that again after all this time?"

"Seriously? You're fucking kidding me?" I snap, letting go of his shirt.

But he just starts laughing, real hard so he's practically doubled over. And I don't know if it's down to the booze, or if he's right and I have missed doing this kind of shit, but I find myself laughing too.

"So what d'you lift in there, anyways? You rob the cash register or something?"

Crawford reaches into his inside jacket pocket, pulls out a bottle of Bourbon. "Couple packets of smokes, and a little something to help me pass the time once I get back to my motel, being as you scared away the girls earlier. We haven't all got some hot broad waiting for us at home, have we, Tim?"

"You broke in there, just for that shit?"

"Yeah, why not," he says with a shrug. "Fancied another drink and I'm getting low on cigarettes."

Find myself laughing again, at the ridiculousness of it all. "My God, you haven't changed one bit, have you, Shaun?"

He shrugs at me again, suddenly serious. "Question is, Tim, have you?" He leans forwards, his face close to mine. "You might put on a good front, be the model citizen these days, but I don't reckon you've changed so much as you like to think. Not deep down. See, maybe catching up some isn't the only reason I'm back in town. Maybe I've got some opportunity that'd be too good to pass up, a way to make some easy money, that I might need a little help with. I'll run you through it tomorrow night. If you're interested?"

"Yeah? So why bring it to me?" I ask, taking a step backwards and suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more sober than I did two seconds ago.

Because really, after all that went down back in '63 I know I should be the last person he'd want to get involved with again. Unless he really doesn't know the truth of it, thinks it actually was all a big coincidence, that what happened that night was some bit of real bad luck or shit timing on his part.

"Because I can't do it by myself, and I know how you work. You and me, Shepard, we're two of a kind; always were, always will be."

"Yeah, right."

"Whatever. Reckon I'll walk back after all." He strides away, before stopping at the corner and glancing back at me. "Take some time and think about it, Tim. Think about why you didn't just walk away and leave me in that store. Could it be you're missing it all? That your cosy little life playing happy families ain't exactly as great as you make out?"

Driving home, I find his words going around in my head, can't shake the feeling that I am missing something these days. It's past midnight when I finally get home, but I can see the glow of the lamp from our bedroom, and pushing open the door, it doesn't surprise me that Leigh's still awake.

"Hey," she says, with a smile, the book dropping from her hand as I sit beside her on the edge of the bed, kiss her hello. "So how was it?"

Grinning at her, I kick off my shoes, then pull off my t-shirt as I start to undress. "It was fine, I had a good night, we had a laugh, talking about the old days."

"Yeah? That was all? The only reason he looked you up was 'cause he wanted to reminisce some?"

I shrug, as I answer. "Yeah." And then I turn to her, pull her into my arms. "Why, did you miss me?"

"Well, yeah, course I did." She laughs, wraps an arm around my neck and leans in close to me, her body pressing against mine. And it's helluva distracting, can't think about nothing more than being with her. But it seem she's still got questions.

"So that's it, one evening and he's not gonna bother you no more? You were worried for nothing?"

"Seriously? You wanna talk about him now?" I murmur, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face.

But she grabs a hold of my hand, frowning as she runs her fingers across my scabbed knuckles. "How did you do this?"

"It's nothing," I mutter, snatching my hand away from her. "Did it at work."

Ain't sure why I'm not telling her what actually happened. Just seems my head is all over the show right now. 'Cause I'm still thinking about Shaun's parting words, how he's got me questioning my choices so easily, despite the fact that all this—being here, with her—is everything I thought I wanted out of life.

"Oh, okay. So you're sure everything's gonna be fine?" she persists.

"Look, can you just let it go, Leigh?" I snap, shrugging her off and getting to my feet. "You're not my fucking mother, and I don't need you treating me like I'm some damn idiot who don't know what they're doing. I can take care of myself."

oOo

Except it seems I was wrong about that. Wouldn't be sitting in here right now if I'd been right. I need some air, to move around. Being cooped up in here ain't helping me think straight.

"Hey," I call out to the cop. "Any chance I can use the bathroom?"

For a half second, I think he's gonna refuse me, or need to get permission from those jerk detectives to let me outta here. But then he nods, gestures for me to stand up. "Yeah, follow me."

And he leads me down that all too familiar corridor, further back into the station, holds up a hand to make me wait as another couple of uniforms take a couple of punk kids through the door that leads to the holding cells. That place where I spent more than my fair share of time at their age.

oOo

"What you in here for?" he asks, as the cop slams the holding cell shut behind me. He don't move though, keeps his feet up and his legs stretched out so that he's monopolising the whole of the narrow wooden bench, his head leaning back against the brickwork and his eyes half shut.

"Could ask you the same question, Winston." I glare at him, but he just smirks back at me.

"This and that, breaking a window, bad mouthing the cop that saw me do it." He shrugs, like being in here's nothing. And I don't suppose it is for him, is probably a better option than going back home to have that jerk of a father of his beat on him again. And then he flashes me a grin before he repeats his question. "So what dumb thing did you do to get pulled in then?"

"What do you care?" I mutter, shoving his boots off the bench so I can settle myself down.

I'm starting to feel a little worse for wear. My cheek is throbbing from one of the punches I took earlier, my ribs are starting to ache too. Not to mention all the beers I sunk are finally starting to take their toll. I'm not looking forward to waking up with a headache, that's for sure, even before I've had to listen to Ma bitching about me being in trouble. Again.

"Don't give a shit what you've done. But I thought you were smarter than being Crawford's whipping boy."

"And why d'you think you're such a fucking expert, Winston?"

"Know you ain't nobody's fool, Shepard. And that that crazy fucking asshole ain't worth you wasting your time on. Don't know why you're still following him about like he's something special—like you're not the one who comes up with all the good ideas and sound plans these days."

"You don't know nothing, Winston."

He sits up straighter, stares at me, and I can tell he's focused on the scars running down the whole left side of my face. The scars that even though they're slowly fading, are still aching and itching after the fight I've got picked up over, aggravated by the blows I've taken and the fresh bruises growing beneath my skin. Resist the temptation to run my hand over them as he carries on watching me.

"Yeah? I ain't as dumb as you seem to think I am Shepard. 'Cause the way I see it, anyone that's tough enough to take shit like that, and figure out a way to put Ronnie Cassidy outta the picture, ain't gonna be content with being no ones second for very long. Everyone knows you're the brains of the operation these days, that Crawford's some crazy fucker who's out of control half the time."

Sighing, I rest my head against the wall, close my eyes, don't have the patience for listening to him no more, even if what he's saying is eerily close to what I've been thinking myself more often than not lately. "Why don't you shut the fuck up Winston. You don't have the first clue about loyalty, being a part of something."

"Yeah?" he asks, chuckling to himself. "Well I don't reckon you're all that much different, do you?"

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading—I hope you enjoyed this chapter too :)


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

The cop ushers me back to the interview room, but there's no sign of the two detectives, although I can hear one of them—Evans, I think—across the ways in their office, the low rumble of his voice as he talks to someone echoing across the corridor, quiet enough that I can't quite make out the words though.

No, when I do get deposited back in my spot, the only thing waiting for me is a luke-warm cup of black coffee in a plastic mug. Guess they don't want to give me nothing breakable, that I could do any damage with. Taking a sip of the thick, black liquid, I try not to grimace.

oOo

I wander into the kitchen, scratching at my head and wishing this damn headache would fuck off.

"You wanna coffee?" Leigh asks, reaching up to the cupboard for a second cup anyway, doesn't quite look at me though.

"Sure," I mutter, watching her for a few a seconds before I gather myself. "Hey, I'm sorry. About last night. Guess I had one too many beers." I manage to force out an apology as I scrabble about in the drawer in search of some Aspirins.

"It's alright." She shrugs as heaps sugar into my cup, stirs it.

"No. It ain't. Shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"No. But I'm sorry too, for pushing you to talk to me about it when you clearly didn't want to. Probably wasn't the best idea for me to be asking you so many questions the minute you walked in the door." Leigh kisses me quick as she hands me the cup, before pulling open the fridge and staring at the contents. "You want some breakfast, too?" she asks, the matter resolved for her at least as she carries on talking, changes the subject yet again. "So I forgot to tell you, Sylvia phoned last night. I'm gonna go see her and the kids on my way home from work, if you don't mind?"

"Sure. Why would I mind? Might be home late myself anyway," I find myself saying.

"Oh?" She pauses, glances back at me.

"Yeah, might stop by and see Shaun again, while he's still here in town," I reply, not quite sure why I'm thinking about doing it.

But I don't think I can simply walk away and forget it. Not without finding out a little more about why he's really here, and getting answers to all those questions he left me with last night. Even if that was exactly the effect he was aiming for—but the difference is that these days I know I don't have to do nothing or get involved in anything I don't want to; I can just hear him out. Just so I've got all the information.

"Oh. Okay." Leigh smiles at me. "Guess it's nice, to be able to catch up with him, before he goes back home again? And good for you too, to have someone else to spend some time with aside from me."

And although she don't say his name, and I don't ask her if Sylv's had any more news, I know she's thinking about Nick too; about how with him gone the only other person I really socialise with these days is my brother, 'cause going for the occasional beer with the guys from work ain't quite the same.

"Yeah," I reply, swallowing the pain pills and washing them down with a gulp of my coffee, happy enough to kid myself, and her, that that's the sole reason I'm interested in spending any more time with Shaun Crawford.

oOo

I turn the cup round in my hands then force myself to take another sip. The coffee is bitter, but my throat is dry and scratchy, and I can feel a headache starting to set in again after sitting in here for so long, that I force myself to persist with drinking it. Maybe it'll help keep me focused, alert enough that I don't go landing myself in any more trouble.

Drumming my fingers on the edge of the table, I watch and wait for any sign that they're coming back to finish this. Try to decide if them taking so long is a good sign—or whether it means they're looking to make this more serious, thinking about charging me. Work through my options on how in hell I can get myself out of this mess with the minimal amount of damage. Do I go against everything I've ever believed and tell them everything I know, in the hope that it's enough to convince them I wasn't involved? Or carry on bullshitting them; give away the minimum amount of information possible to get me the hell out of here?

Wish to God I was at home right now. Or more precisely out on that dinner date with Leigh like I'm supposed to be. Putting things right. We'd have been finished at the restaurant by now, maybe be out some place still, or heading home, just the two of us. Her laughing and smiling, telling me some story about her day; me content to be listening to her, watching and wondering how in hell I got so damn lucky as to end up with her. Not sat here in the police station nursing a tepid cup of coffee while trying to get my head around what the hell is going on—and probably close to losing the only good thing that ever happened to me through my own stupidity. The only girl I ever really gave a damn about; the one I'd do anything for.

oOo

"Hey, so you gonna pour me drink, Tim?" Claire asks, her words barely audible over the shit music playing from the other room, as she pouts at me, then wraps an arm around me and rests her head against my shoulder.

"Sure," I reply, gently shrugging her off as I reach for the nearest bottle of booze, 'cause pissing off the gang leader's old lady ain't ever a smart move, "so where's Shaun tonight?"

"You've probably got a better idea than me," she says, scowling.

I've known Claire for years, on account of her being in my class at school. But she's been Shaun's girl this past year or so, so I see her around a fair bit more often these days, and I've worked my way through most of her friends these past few months, too. Only tonight it seems like she's turned up here to this house party on her own—and from the way she's slurring her words she's already pretty wasted.

"Haven't seen him," I lie. Even though I know exactly where he is, and what he's doing—and apparently, as it turns out, so does she.

"Yeah, course you haven't, Tim, You always were a lousy liar about shit like that. Quit covering for him when we both know he's upstairs screwing some other broad." She takes a large gulp of the drink she clearly don't need and smiles at me again. "So you on your own, tonight? Need a little company?" she murmurs, resting her hand back on my arm.

"Why? Are you two not a thing any more?" I ask.

"Well if he can do whatever the hell he feels like, don't see why I can't too, don't you think?" she asks, shifting to she's standing even closer to me, smiling at me as she runs a hand lazily through her hair.

Find myself grinning at her. Guess I've probably had a fair few drinks myself, too, if I'm thinking this is anywhere near a good idea. But she is about the hottest girl around tonight. And maybe I can get her talking, too, if I pay her just the right amount of attention; maybe get some clues as to what new business Shaun's getting himself caught up that he don't seem too keen to share with the rest of us yet.

And so we carry on talking and laughing, and I keep her glass topped up, then we head into the dark sitting room where there's no one else much around to see us together, and it ain't long before the tension between us is getting pretty unbearable, so that even the prospect of Crawford being close enough that he could walk in here at any second ain't enough to stop me following through with this now; find myself suggesting to her that we go some place else, just the two of us. And she's nodding, agreeing with me, laughing about how she'll show him she don't need him, when some passing asshole slaps me upside the back of the head, starts cussing in my ear and challenging me to a fight.

Wheeling round, I realise it's only Winston, and I snap angrily back at him. "Why don't you fuck off, Dal? I ain't in the mood for your kid's games tonight."

But he don't give up. If anything he ramps it up another level, pushing and shoving at me as he spews out all sorts of insults, until I've had enough and throw a punch at him, making him stumble into coffee table, sending the empty beer cans rattling to the floor.

Fucker still don't quit though. Still comes back for more. "If you want to do this properly, then why don't we take it outside, Winston?" I ask.

"Hell, I'm always ready for a fight." Dallas smirks over at me. "But are you sure you're allowed, Shepard? Want me to run upstairs and check with the boss? Ask Crawford for you?" And he saunters away through the crowd of people who've been drawn into the hall by the commotion of our fight, and out the front door, hands in his pockets as he laughs to himself.

Collecting myself, I know I'm not gonna let his insults slide, that I _can't_ if I want to maintain my reputation round here. No, I need to be seen to put him in his place and I storm after him, but by the time I get outside he's halfway down the street, find myself having to take a few long strides to catch up to him, shove him on the back of his shoulder before he finally turns around and faces me.

"What the hell was all that about, Winston?" I demand. "You got something you want to say to me, or are you just looking for a good beating?"

"Yeah, like you got any chance of taking me out," he says.

"You wanna put that to the test?" I swing at him again, but he steps back, surprisingly fast on his feet for someone who's sunk as much beer as he has tonight.

"Calm down, Shepard, I ain't looking to get into it with you."

"Then what the fuck was all that about in the house?" I step forwards; grab the front of his shirt. "Interrupting me like that?"

"Jesus, Tim, you really are fucked in the head if you think messing around with Crawford's girl is a good idea."

"She told me they ain't together no more."

Dallas snorts at me. "You should be fucking thanking me, Shepard, not bitching at me. Do you really think Crawford would've seen it that way if he found out you left with her? You might be able to talk yourself out of most shit with him, make him believe you've got his back but I don't reckon even you could get yourself out of that mess unscathed. I mean you've been there, seen first-hand enough times what he's like when he's got it in for someone. You really want that to be you, 'cause I thought you'd be smarter than that, have a better plan than doing everything you can to piss him off—if you really are serious about taking him out of action and putting yourself in his place?"

"And maybe you're talking a load of bull like you always do, Winston. Maybe I'm happy with things staying the way they are."

Dallas laughs. "Yeah, course you are, Tim. You might fool the rest of them, but I know you ain't gonna be satisfied until you take him out of action."

"Well if that's the case, then what makes you think getting Claire wasn't a part of my plan all along?"

"Sure it was, Shepard, like there wasn't only one thing on your mind when she's hitting on you. Not that I blame you, I mean I wouldn't turn her down, either," he leers, the smirk back on his face again. "But it ain't gonna be no benefit to you in the long run is it? You really think you can trust her? Claire might make out that she knows shit, but do you really think Crawford's gonna be sharing his secrets with her if he ain't hardly telling you nothing these days? And she'll go running back to him the second he clicks his fingers, same as she always does, playing the innocent while she makes out it was all down to you."

I shrug at Dallas, not wanting to admit he might have a point.

"Come off it, you know I'm right, even if you ain't man enough to admit it. But if you really want to know who Crawford's in with, then maybe you need to come listen to what I've got to say instead of wasting your time on that broad. Happens that I saw something real interesting a couple nights ago." And with that he turns and strolls away.

"Yeah, like you know anything, Winston," I mutter.

He turns his head, grins at me over his shoulder as he carries on walking. "Maybe, maybe not. But there's only one way you're gonna find out for sure, ain't there?"

Jesus, I really don't need any more of this jerk and his fucking nonsense, but I still find myself wanting to hear what he thinks he knows, because he has an unnerving knack of knowing most everything that's going on—even though he ain't ever officially been part of any of the gangs.

"Why, where're you heading, Winston?" I call out after him.

"Back to Buck's—you coming or what?"

oOo

Seems they've got a new plan on how they're handling this, feels like they're hoping to trip me up, get me to drop myself in something, with the line Evans is taking on this now they've returned—launching straight into a new string of quick-fire questions before he's even sat down. Reckon I'd rather be in a fist fight right about now than trying to pick my way through this minefield.

"So you work in a machine shop? Operate the machinery, work with metal."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Been doing it long?"

"A few years now," I reply with a shrug.

"How long, exactly?" Evans persists.

"Since the Spring of '67."

"That's when you got out of McAlester?"

"Yeah."

"And in this job, you'd have access to metal piping, tube and such."

"Guess so." I admit, even though I know what they're angling at, that those photos made it pretty obvious how Harris' injuries were caused. Same way as Cassidy's were all those years back. "Same as anyone else who works there could get their hands on it—or anybody else in town who goes to a hardware store for that matter."

"But it'd be real easy for you to pick something up while you were there? Some off-cut or something, a bit of scrap that wasn't needed. Be real straightforward for you to take it out of there and home with you without anyone ever knowing."

"Dunno. Haven't ever felt the need to take anything home from the place."

"What, nothing? Not one thing in five years?"

"That's what I said."

"You sure, Mr Shepard, I mean I don't suppose there's anyone who hasn't taken _something_ home with them that they shouldn't from work, do you?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I haven't stolen nothing from the place. I ain't dumb enough to risk my job over a bit of rubbish like that. And anyway, do you really think if I wanted to do something like that, that I'd be dumb enough to use something that'd send you looking for me?"

"So what did he say?" Murphy suddenly pipes up, changing tack on their questioning again.

"What do you mean, what did who say? What exactly are you asking me?"

Evans huffs out a deep breath and rolls his eyes at his partner, then takes a sip of his coffee before elaborating on his question, speaking real slow like he thinks I ain't gonna understand otherwise. "What did Mr Harris say to you last night that made you decide to carry through on your threat?"

"What the hell?" I demand, my chair scraping backwards across the floor tiles as I jump to my feet. "This is nothing but bullshit. What're you trying to pin on me? I told you already that I walked out of that bar, got into my car and drove home. Never clapped eyes on him again. Spent the rest of the night with my wife until I went to work this morning."

"Are you sure there's nothing we you want to add? Nothing else you need to tell us?" Evans demands, getting to his feet too, leaning forwards across the table so he's practically inches away from me.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why? I've given you my statement so how about you let me get back home?" I rest my hands on the table edge and glare back at him, not prepared to back down over this.

"Hey, calm down there, Mr Shepard. We simply need to check a few more details with you and _if_ it all tallies _then_ you'll be free to go." He stares right at me, has the nerve to smile. "So how about you take a seat and we'll get this all straightened out? I'm pretty sure it won't take much longer."

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone reading this :)


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

All I can hear is the slow, regular breathing of the uniform cop as he stands in the doorway. Evans and Murphy disappeared again a few minutes back—guess we're into some cycle now of full-on non-stop questioning, alternating with periods of uncomfortable silence. Suppose they're hoping it'll unsettle me enough that I'll say something wrong, but there's no way I'm admitting to doing what they've been talking about. Never in a million years.

Or maybe they're thinking about sticking me in the cells overnight, picking this up and starting over in the morning. Suppose if they do I'll get a phone call. Hope to God that Curly is home if I do because I've already figured out all I need him to do for me if I am stuck in this dump.

And I'm running through my list of instructions for my brother, in my head one more time when Murphy reappears, leaning against the doorpost.

"Well thank you for all your cooperation, Mr Shepard," he mutters, all fake charm and false smiles.

"Wait, what's going on? You saying I'm free to go?"

"Sure." He shrugs at me.

But I just sit here, frozen to the spot, and waiting for the catch. 'Cause out of all the ways I saw this playing out this sure as hell ain't one of them.

"What, you not so keen to leave all of a sudden?" he asks, with a laugh. "There something else you want to tell us after all?"

Shaking my head, I get to my feet and stroll past him, trying not to give the impression that I'm hurrying—or that I'm thinking he's going to stop me any second and say they're locking me up after all.

"Hey, Shepard," he calls out as the uniform pushes open the door into the public area of the station for me. "We may well need to talk to you some more, so don't get any ideas about leaving town, will you?"

oOo

"Where d'you hear about this place?" Leigh asks as she presses her forehead up against the dirty, dust-streaked glass and peers in through the front window of the house.

Sometimes, since all that trouble with Myers and the River Kings, I think it'd be easier if the pair of us packed up and skipped town, put Tulsa behind us. It's not like she's got anyone to keep her here anymore. And nobody at home would miss me either; Curly and Ange would manage easy enough without me—they did before, when I was in jail, so they could do it again.

But even though it makes sense when I plan it all out in my head, I haven't quite been able to make myself suggest it. So this is the compromise—her hunting for a new place to live, away from the constant reminders of both of our past mistakes—only so far the searching hasn't exactly been going well.

"Guy at work told me about it; it belongs to some relative of his and the rent's pretty decent. He said he'll meet us here tomorrow morning, bring the keys with him, if you want to have a proper look around."

"Hmm." She walks along the porch a little, takes another glance in through the window on the other side of the door. "So how much exactly is a 'decent' amount?"

I tell her the price Dale told me but she don't reply, just shakes her head as she turns away.

"So what do you think? Do you want to have a better look at it or not?" I ask, my initial enthusiasm for this fading rapidly as Leigh stands there on the porch step, her back to the house and me, arms folded and staring out at the street, like she's doing all she can to avoid looking at me.

"It's great and all, Tim, but I don't get why you're wasting everybody's time by even thinking about showing it to me." She shrugs, starts heading for the car. "Guess I better keep on searching and hope something turns up. There are a couple more apartments in today's paper that I could try to see over the weekend. If I ring tonight, they might not have gone yet."

"Don't you like it then?" I ask, trailing behind her, not quite able to hide my disappointment at her lack of interest.

"Course I do, it's real nice, reminds me of, well, home I guess—and I know you're trying to help, and honest, I'm grateful."

And I guess she's thinking about her old man about now, and the house she grew up in, that she lived in 'til he died last year leaving her with nothing; the house that's only a street or so away from here and practically identical to this one. Because a small smile crosses her face, before she stands on tiptoe, kisses me real soft, then carries on walking.

"So what's the problem? I don't get why you ain't a little more interested."

"Come off it, Tim, you know what I make a week; there's still no way I can afford a place like this on my wages."

"No, but I could."

She pauses, turns back to look at me, her smile replaced with a puzzled frown. "Why? You wanting to move out of your Mom's place? I thought you had to live there, for your parole conditions?"

"Checked it out with Barnes last time I had to report in with him," I say, trying to sound like this isn't any big deal to me. "He says me being responsible for my own place would be a good thing; that it'll show I'm settled and serious about keeping out of trouble if I've got to be accountable for the rent and all."

"And you reckon you can cover the rent on a house? All the bills too?"

"Yeah, I done the math, I'd still have a little to spare; and you know how shit it is at home, with Harry constantly picking a fight with me over nothing. Probably be better all round for everyone if I wasn't actually living there under the same roof as him no more. But..." I find myself stopping right in front of her and jam my hands in my pockets, wonder this went so much easier when I'd played it out in my head.

"But what, Tim?"

"Well, it's just that it'd be even easier to manage, if it was the both of us, together."

Her head snaps up at that, her brow furrowed. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Jesus, Leigh, you really want me to spell it out? I want to live some place. With you. Properly, not creeping around avoiding my Ma and Harry or me staying over at yours and trying to ignore all the reminders of your jerk of an ex-boyfriend. Have a new start in a place that's ours."

"Seriously? You really mean it?" she whispers, like she's half expecting me to laugh, tell her it's all some big joke.

"Well, yeah. I mean it makes sense, doesn't it? I spend most my time at yours anyway."

And then she's hugging me, arms tight around me as she says softly, "Suppose when you put it like that then there's no good reason why we shouldn't take a proper look around then."

And as I hold her close, I finally start to relax a little.

oOo

Wish I could fucking relax right now.

The walk across town seems to be taking me forever and the closer I get to home the more on edge I'm feeling, despite how desperate I was to be here not so long ago.

Guess I could have rung my brother to come get me, but I needed some space, some time to get my head straight and figure out exactly what I'm going to say to Leigh—and what my next move needs to be.

As I turn onto our quiet, deserted street, I thought I'd got that sorted too—until the second I push open the front gate and step onto the front path. Because now I can't seem to make myself move. Just stand here leaning on the porch rail, my head swimming with memories of all the times I got brought home by the cops or crept in late as a kid, having to listen over and over to my Ma yell and scream and cry—and I hope to God that ain't the reaction I get from Leigh.

oOo

The door creaks louder than I hoped as I push it shut behind me. I creep down the hall, stepping carefully to avoid the loose floorboards I memorised a long time back, hopeful that I've made it in unnoticed, 'cause I could do without any more drama tonight. Not after the run in we had with Tiber Street tonight. Seems that I've used up my share of luck though, 'cause I can already hear Ma calling out to me.

"Tim? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Ma," I reply from the shadows of the hall, not wanting to go into the kitchen, 'cause I know full well her seeing me in this much of a mess won't do nothing but make an even bigger scene, have her moaning and yelling at me. "I'm going to bed, okay? Why don't you try to get some sleep too?"

I don't wait for an answer, just turn away to head into the room I share with my brother, when I come face to face with Harry. Guess my night really is scheduled to go from bad to worse after all, as he reaches out a flabby hand, jabs me in the chest.

"Get the fuck in the other room and apologise to your mother," he orders.

Think about telling him to go to hell, for about a half second. But I'm not dumb enough to take him on in a fight if I don't need to. Not when I ain't sure if I could win. Another few months, a year at best, and it'll be a different story. But with everything else I got going on right now I don't need a beating from him to make things even harder.

He shoves me again, and I glare at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fucking going," I snap back, turning on my heel and strolling into the kitchen. "Hey, Ma." I rest a hand on her shoulder, where she's sat hunched at the kitchen table. "Look, I'm home, I'm fine, just real tired. So now you've seen me how about we all get some sleep?"

She gets to her feet, nods, and I think I've maybe got away with it—until she grabs a hold of my hand and runs a finger over my swollen knuckles then stares up at my cut and bruised face.

"Tim, what happened to you? What have you done?"

"Nothing, Ma," I reply as Harry snorts with laughter.

"Damn it, Jean, don't you dare go feeling sorry for him. Asshole probably deserved it; he's most likely the one who started the fight. Kid's exactly like his damn father was, can't stay away from trouble for five minutes."

"Fuck off, Harry, it's none of your business what I do. You ain't family."

"Not my business?" he yells, "Who the fuck do you think is paying your damn medical bills or dealing with the cops every time they come around here? Sure as hell ain't your mother, is it? I mean look at her, she can barely take care of herself, let alone do anything useful."

"Don't you fucking talk about her like that!"

"Or what?" he sneers, "What you gonna do about it, Timothy?"

Can't keep it together no more. Find myself launching myself at him, swinging widely, so the pair of us scuffle around the kitchen, Ma screaming until Curly appears, dragging me away while Angela stands wide eyed and silent, watching from the doorway.

"Come. On, Tim, leave it, he's not worth it," my brother murmurs in my ear, his voice low. "Please? It'll only make things worse."

oOo

Making things worse. Probably the only thing that I've ever been any good at.

Despite having spent the last God knows how many hours wishing I was back here, now I'm stuck here, standing outside the front door. Wanting so badly to see Leigh, but at the same time terrified about what reaction I'm likely to get from her. 'Cause nothing between us has gone right lately because of me and my pathetic need to feel like I was _somebody_ again. Joke of it is, that I had all I needed here all along—only I was too fucking dumb to realise; let myself believe that there was actually something more important than all of this.

oOo

I wander into the kitchen, following the smell of food, find Leigh there stirring something on the stove top.

"Hey, sorry," I murmur, repeating the words I'm saying to her all the damn time right now, forever making excuses as to why I'm late, or why I'm not staying in when I do make it home on time. Kissing her, I hold out the slightly battered bunch of flowers I've been clutching, a last minute purchase at the gas station as I stopped for fuel on my way home. "Here, I got you these."

Although I can't quite help wondering if I really bought them to do something nice for her, or more if I was hoping they'd serve as a distraction, stop her quizzing me on what exactly it is I've been doing tonight that's kept me from coming back here any sooner.

"Thanks. They're lovely." Leigh smiles at me as she lays them on the table, turns to reach for a vase. "Your brother's here, he's out in the yard having a smoke."

"Jesus, again?" I snap, before I can think about what I'm actually saying. "What the hell does he want now?"

Leigh frowns at me, gestures to a pile of papers on the table. "He only needed some help with filling out some forms, he's thinking about changing jobs. I think he really just wanted to talk to you about it. You know how he is; he probably needs to see if you think it's a good idea before he actually makes up his mind about it."

"Damn it, I ain't responsible for him. Don't see why he can't make his own fucking decisions for once in his life."

"What's wrong? You two had a falling out or something?"

"No. But Curly needs to grow up some, stop relying on me to make his decisions for him. He ain't a little kid no more, time he quit acting like it."

"Hey, Tim, I don't think that's fair—"

"And you can quit sticking up for him too," I bark at her.

"What on earth has got into you tonight?" she asks.

"Nothing."

Even though that's not strictly true. Because the cash Shaun gave me earlier tonight for working that job with him the other day is lying heavy in my pocket and weighing on my mind, now that the thrill and excitement of doing it has worn off.

"Yeah, right. You're just fine," Leigh scoffs, shaking her head at me, before stepping closer, slipping her arms around me. "Wish you'd tell me what's going on, Tim. Feels like I hardly know you these days. Wish you'd tell me what you're so preoccupied with."

"Shit, Leigh, can you not just leave it alone? Why d'you always have to think the worst of me all the damn time?" I snarl back at her, brushing her hands off of me as I pretend like I don't see her flinch a little at how harsh I sound, how rough I've been.

She opens her mouth like she's gonna say something but then thinks better of it and walks away from me, settles herself across the room leaning on the counter. "What, so you think it's fine that you disappear to God knows where—again—for hours. Then when you do get back you won't even tell me where you've been, what you've been doing?"

"Didn't know I needed your permission to go out."

"Never said you did." Leigh sighs, sounding defeated as she looks me over, her eyes resting on my right cheek, the bruises I can feel that are forming along my jaw. "What in hell happened to you, Tim? You sure as hell didn't do that at work." She reaches out, as though to trace her fingers across my injuries, but I take a step back and scowl at her.

"Nothing you need to know about."

"Seriously? You come home covered in bruises, like you've been in a fight for the first time in years, and I'm not supposed to even ask you about it?"

"I said leave it alone, Leigh," I yell, glaring at her, but she still don't take the damn hint that I don't want to talk about this, goes on at me even more.

"No, I won't. I thought things between us were better than that, Tim; that we didn't have no secrets from each other. So when did things change so much that you can't even talk to me no more about what's bothering you?" I want this to end, put a stop to her being so damn difficult about thus, but she don't give me a chance to say nothing, barely pausing for breath as she carries on and on. "Oh, wait, I know. Ever since that so-called friend of yours showed up here three weeks ago everything seems to have gone to hell. Thought at first it was gonna be something good for you, but you've got more and more distant, been shutting me out all the damn time. So is it that you miss how things used to be, before you ever met me? Or is it that this—being stuck here with me—is all too boring for you? 'Cause if you don't want to be here no more, then how about you man up and tell me?"

Not bothering to answer her, I stalk away across the kitchen, through the back door and out into the yard. Realise with a start my brother is still sat out here, a cigarette burning down in his hand as flicks the ash to the floor.

"You got another?" I ask, gesturing to him to hand me his smokes.

"Sure." He tosses the carton at me, carries on staring at me as I fish in my pockets for my lighter.

"What?" I glare at him as grip the cigarette between my lips, spark up my lighter.

He shrugs at me, takes a drag on his own smoke. "So what the hell, Tim?" He tilts his head in the direction of the house, makes it obvious he's heard every word of what's just gone on.

"So we had a bit of a disagreement. Big deal."

"Sounded like more than that from out here. What's going on with you two?"

"Might have known you'd take her side," I mutter. "She needs to give me some space, stop being so damn touchy all the time. And she sure as hell don't need to be telling me what to do all the fucking time."

"Or maybe she's terrified you're gonna wind up back in jail, or worse."

"What? You two been spending all your time talking about me then? How shit I am?"

"Jesus, Tim." Curly sighs, takes another drag on his cigarette. "She's fucking worried about you, is all; thinks she's gonna lose you again."

"Yeah, right. I ain't an idiot, Curly. I won't let anything like that happen this time."

"It did before," he retorts. "The way I remember it, you thought you had everything under control that time, too. And look how that ended up—you winding up in McAlester and very nearly screwing up everything."

Leaves me in silence as there isn't much I can say in response to that. Instead I watch him as he throws his cigarette down to the ground, grinds it out beneath his heel then stares off across the yard, at the setting sun.

"You ever think you're becoming a lot like the old man these days, Tim? What with the bullshit stories and the doing whatever you please and to hell with everyone else? But she ain't Ma, and I reckon there's only so much shit she'll take from you before you ruin it for good."

"No, you're wrong. I'm nothing like him," I insist, as I run my hand through my hair, lean back against the back wall of the house and find my mind racing over all them times he'd turn up late.

"You sure about that? Or maybe you've forgotten what it used to be like?" Curly taunts, as he turns back towards the house. "Anyways, I gotta get going, I got work tomorrow."

"Thought you wanted to talk to me about something?" I mutter.

But Curly just shrugs. "Nah, don't think now's the best time, do you? Do yourself a favour, Tim, and quit being such a dick. I'll talk to you later."

And as he strolls back inside the house, a long-forgotten memory flashes into my brain of me standing watching, listening at the door of our bedroom hoping the floorboards don't creak and give my presence away, while the old man grins at Ma as he shoves some worse for wear flowers into her hand and reels off another of his unbelievable excuses where whatever he's fucking done is somehow Ma's fault.

Shit. I fucking am. Doing the same, being the thing I promised myself I wouldn't be, that's crept up on me out of nowhere. I need to do something. Before I screw this up for good. Question is, have I got myself in too deep already that there's no going back?

oOo

Guess either way I'm better off knowing. Owe her some kind of explanation at least.

The house is silent, so maybe she's gone to bed after all—but as I pass the door of the sitting room, I realise she's there, curled up in the armchair, her head resting on her arm at some real awkward angle, still dressed ready to go out like we planned.

"Hey, darling," I whisper, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe.

"Tim?" She blinks at me, eyes suddenly wide as she wakes and manages to focus on me. "Jesus, what time is it?"

"Three in the morning." Swallowing, I run a hand through my hair, find I can't look her in the eye, not after what I've put her through tonight. Know I need to say something though. "Baby, listen, I'm sorry I—"

But she doesn't give me the chance to finish. Instead she's on her feet, throwing her arms around me, pressing her lips to mine. "I don't care, Tim, it doesn't matter. All that's important is you're here, that you're okay. I've been so scared they wouldn't let you come home or something, thought you were gone again, like the last time."

"Hell, you can't get rid of me that easily," I say smiling, trying to make a joke of it as I wrap my arms around her, like me coming home to her had never been in any doubt, or that there's not still a chance it could all fall apart.

'Cause there's no way this thing is over—not if Crawford's involved.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, hope you like this chapter too :)

* * *

 **EIGHT**

"You took your damn time," I mutter, getting to my feet as my brother appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Yeah, you're welcome, Tim," he snaps back, scowling at me. "So are you gonna let me in on what it is that's so important that you're ringing me and dragging me over here so early? You know I've just come off a twelve hour night shift, right? That I should be at home, taking a shower and trying to catch some sleep, not standing here sweating my ass off in my fucking work clothes."

"Okay, I get the picture, so how about you quit your whining? You want a coffee?"

"Please." He nods as I reach for the cups, grateful for the distraction for a few seconds so I don't have to think about the mess I'm in, the help I need from him—until he speaks up, brings me back to reality. "So what in hell is going on that it couldn't wait 'til later?"

"I'll get to that in a minute, Curly. Did you bring it like I asked?"

"Yeah, I've got it. Had a hell of a job distracting Ma long enough for me to get in her room and find it though. Thought for a minute she must've got rid of it when Harry made her throw out the rest of his stuff."

"Got what?" Leigh asks, stifling a yawn as she wanders into the room, giving Curly a quick hug as she passes by him, before coming to a stop beside me.

Curly shrugs as he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, glances at me then Leigh, before staring down at his shoes, his face reddening.

"Brought what?" Leigh persists. "What's going on, Tim? Why's Curly here so early?"

I slip an arm around her, brush her hair back from her face with my other hand as I kiss the top of her head. It's hard to miss the dark circles under her eyes, how pale she is as she rubs at her eyes before focusing back on me.

"Nothing important. Did we wake you?"

Leigh shrugs a little. "No, not really. I heard voices and wondered who it was, what was happening; I…well, I guess I needed to know...where you were."

She smiles up at me, but it doesn't do anything to hide her worry or make me feel any less uneasy—'cause even though she don't out and say it, it's pretty obvious she was half-expecting it to be the cops back again, that she thinks I'm in deeper trouble than I've led her to believe.

Returning my attention to the hissing coffee pot, I fill the first cup, hold it out to her. "Here, take this."

"No, that's okay." She wrinkles her nose as she shakes her head and passes it straight over to my brother. "I don't really fancy it right now."

"Yeah? You not feeling too good this morning?"

Leigh steps away from me, picks up a glass and turns towards the sink.

"It's nothing, I'm probably still tired, is all," she says, sipping at the water before she sets down the glass again and rubs at her forehead, holds her arms around herself.

"Well then why don't you go get some more rest, take it easy? Ain't no reason for you to be up, and catching up on some sleep might make you feel a little better."

"No," she replies, her voice low and calm, makes it obvious how much she's trying to hide how much all of this is bothering her, and somehow that's worse than her yelling at me. "I think what'll help me feel better is you telling me what the two of you are scheming and whispering about now, Tim."

"It really ain't nothing important, so don't worry yourself over it," I suggest.

Leigh shakes her head as she frowns at me. "Don't worry? I thought after everything that happened last night you might actually trust me some, instead of shutting me out yet again."

"Why? What's been going on? " Curly asks, his eyes on me as he waits for an answer, but Leigh ignores his question, carries on like she hasn't heard him or he's not even here in the room.

"Either you tell me what in hell you're up to this time or we're done, Tim."

"Come on, darling, you don't mean that."

"Yeah? You sure about that?" She rests a hand on the back of the chair, looking for all the world like she might pass out at any second.

"Please, Leigh?" I plead, "I know I fucked up by getting involved with him again, but I'm going to make it right, I promise. It'll just be safer if you don't get involved."

"Think it's too late for that, don't you? I've been involved since the day I met you, one way or another, so how about you quit hiding everything from me?"

"And maybe I'm doing this for you—to get Crawford out of our lives, get everything back to the way it was," I snap, feeling myself getting more angry than I should be. 'Cause none of this is her fault, it's all down to me and my stupid mistakes. All I need is for her to trust me like she used to, to give me a little space to fix it my way.

Only it seems I'm not going to be that lucky because she carries on throwing her questions at me. "But you told me you'd done that, the other day? Wasn't that what Thursday night was supposed to be about, or was that all bullshit excuses and stories too?"

"No, I wasn't lying to you, I swear. But last night made it pretty obvious that talking to him hadn't made no difference."

"So what makes you think you'll have any more luck this time? Why not leave it to the cops to take care of him? Or tell them what you know about him?"

"Jesus, Leigh, you know that ain't how it works round here. Those cops don't give a shit; hell, they're probably hoping for any excuse to pin something on me, find the easy way out and close down their case and to hell with the details as to whether I actually did it or not."

She shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair and sighs, before turning away towards the hall.

"Whatever, Tim. Sounds like you've already made up your mind so I'm not going to waste my breath no more telling you that you're making a mistake. I can't believe you're planning to drag Curly into it too, land both of you in even more trouble."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart. But I took care of Crawford before, so I can do it again."

"Yeah? She asks, glancing back over her shoulder at me, "I really hope you're right about that, Tim."

oOo

"You're really gonna go with him on this job, Tim?" Nick asks, his voice low and the words rushed as he tries to appear casual.

A few feet away Shaun laughs and jokes with a couple of the other guys as they stand beside his car, his arm slung across Claire's shoulders as she leans into his side.

Catching her eye she smiles at me, though it ain't a friendly smile, makes me a little uneasy as she turns her head and whispers something in Shaun's ear.

"Tim? Are you listening to me? You sure this is a good idea?" Nick repeats, bringing my attention back to him.

"What? Yeah, don't see as I've got much choice, do you? If I back out of going with him then he'll know something's off."

"But you know what he's getting into with those guys? Where he's headed? 'Cause you sure as hell don't need to get yourself arrested over the state border. It'll be bad enough if you get picked up here again, but over there's a whole 'nother ballgame."

"Hey, Shepard, you ready or what?" Crawford shouts out.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, raising my hand to acknowledge him as I say my goodbyes to Nick, grinning at him. "Don't worry about it, Miller, like I told you yesterday, everything'll be fine. And if it all goes to plan then Crawford ain't gonna be an issue to any of us no more."

"And what if it don't? How exactly are you planning on taking control, Tim?"

I shrug at him. "You're better off not knowing, Nick. Least this way if it all goes wrong then you can honestly say you didn't know shit about it—and there'll still be one of us here on the inside, to give us a second chance at this."

I stroll across the lot, about to pull open the passenger door when Crawford shakes his head, tosses his car keys in my direction. "Nah, you can drive, Shepard."

"Yeah, if you like." I shrug at him, hoping I look casual, like I haven't got plans of my own in mind for how I want this to pan out today.

"So you're sure you know what you're doing once we get there?" Crawford demands, his eyes on the road, as I drive us out of town, the buildings getting fewer and farther between as we get closer and closer to the state border.

"Yeah. I ain't some dumb fuck like Cassidy. You told me once, don't need to keep going over the damn plan."

"Don't fucking tell me what to do, Shepard. If I tell you to go through the plan a million times then that's exactly what you're gonna do. So how about you get fucking started?"

"Jesus. Okay, there ain't no need to be so damn uptight about it, Shaun." And I turn slightly to look at him as I run through the whole damn plan from the beginning again, talking real slow—like I'm giving some instruction to Curly or something, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I know I'm treading a dangerous line. But right about now I really don't give a fuck. Just need to get today over with, one way or the other and see where it leaves me then. 'Cause by the time I get home I'll either be the one running the show or Crawford's next target. Don't think there's no middle ground on this. "You go inside, on your own, do your negotiations with Bailey. I wait outside, keep the car ready to go, so when you get out of there we beat it back to Tulsa quick as you like with the money. Easy."

Nodding, he rests his head back against the seat, and closes his eyes, his feet up on the dash. Can just about see him out the corner of my eye round the edge of my sunglasses without having to move.

The drive is tedious and the radio crackles in and out, losing reception as we get further and further from Tulsa until I lose patience with it, snap the dial to off. A diner flashes by on our left, a gas station alongside it with a big sign outside reading 'Last stop for ten miles' in faded red letters a foot high—and for a half second I toy with pulling in, calling this whole thing off.

But then the moment passes and I shake myself. Just nerves is all. Which I tell myself is a good thing—means I won't take nothing for granted.

Taking another glimpse at Shaun, his eyes are still shut and his breathing is slow and regular. And I'm almost convinced he might actually have fallen asleep when out of the blue he barks out another instruction. "Pull over."

"Why? Could've just stopped back at that gas station if you'd bother to say something then."

Shaun doesn't answer me though. Instead, he reaches out and pushes open the car door, steps out onto the roadside and snaps at me to do the same.

"Jesus, Crawford, what the hell are we doing stopping out here?" I ask, following him away from the car, caught completely off guard as he turns and swings at me, catches me with a left hook to the chin that sends me reeling backwards, so it's a struggle to stay on my feet. "What the hell?" I mutter, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth as I gather my breath, keeping the distance between us as I watch him, try to read what in hell he's going to do next.

"So I had an interesting conversation with Claire. How you were putting the moves on her at the weekend."

"Yeah?" I ask, trying to buy myself a little time, even though it's obvious he knows at least some of it— that she's been playing us off against each other, so there clearly isn't any point denying the fact. "And she told me you two were done; and as you were off upstairs screwing some other broad at the time I actually believed her."

"Quit the crap, Shepard," he says, his hands balling into fists at his sides, "you know she's off-limits unless I say otherwise. Seems you have a problem with following orders lately though, acting like you're something special, like you're the one running the show these days. Makes me wonder exactly where your loyalties lie these days."

Forcing out a laugh, I grin at him, 'cause even though he's somehow stumbled on the truth I'm not prepared to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"What, you believe her, that double-crossing little tramp who's been chancing her luck with anyone who'll have her, then goes crawling back to you when she figures she ain't gonna get a better offer? Maybe you should be asking her about the time she spends hanging around Wayne Myers or them guys outta Brumly instead of throwing accusations at me. Claire ain't nothing but trouble, Shaun, no matter how talented she might be otherwise. You got to know that. And when have I ever done anything to make you doubt me?"

"You think you're real clever, Tim. But you piss me off one more time or fuck up today and you're out. For good. Understand?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Shaun. Now are we gonna get out of here, get on with what's important and make some easy money?"

oOo

"So are you actually going to tell me what in hell you're caught up in, why the cops are looking at you, or why exactly Leigh's so mad at you, Tim?"

"Why? You got cold feet or something? 'Cause if you ain't prepared to help me out then you might as well go home now."

"Jesus, Tim, would you listen to yourself? That ain't what I said. You know I'll always help you out, no matter what. But I still need you to tell me what it is I'm getting myself into."

"Yeah, okay." Sighing, I turn back to Curly, fill him in on all that's gone down—that last encounter with Crawford in the bar, the cops at the door, all their questioning and insinuations—before asking him the question he still hasn't answered since he got here. "You said you brought it with you, so where the hell is it then?"

"Right here," he murmurs, glancing back down the quiet hallway before reaching into his pocket and pulling out our old man's old hand gun, setting it on the table in front of me. "So what exactly is it that you're planning to do now, Tim?"


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

I get to my feet as Curly's car rumbles to a halt outside the house; hear him sound the horn—even though he doesn't need to, 'cause I've been ready and waiting for him for a good half hour at least.

Crossing the street, I pull open the passenger door, bark out an order as I settle down next to him, "How about you get this heap moving, get us out of here?"

Curly glances across at me. "You tell Leigh what you're planning to do?"

"Course not." I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him, but honestly, the kid don't half ask some dumb questions sometimes.

"She still mad at you?"

"Yeah." I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket, focus on them, on finding my lighter, and keep my thoughts to myself—even though all I want to do is tell him to shut the hell up about this.

"But you're gonna sort it out, right? You two ain't breaking up or nothing? That was just talk earlier wasn't it, just 'cause she was angry at you? She didn't really mean it?"

Jesus, this is all I need, Curly dredging up everything that Leigh had said to me this morning, adding to that nagging doubt that maybe I've finally pushed her too far this time. Shake myself, don't need to be thinking like that, not now, not when I need to be focused on what I've got to do.

"Yeah Curly, we're gonna be just fine. Once I get everything straightened out. Not that it's any of your damn business."

"But—"

"Damn it, Curly, will you give it a rest?" I snap, "It ain't no big deal. Everyone fights sometimes don't they?"

He shrugs at me as he slows for a junction, but at least he finally takes the hint that I ain't wanting to chat about this no more. 'Cause really, talking about shit ain't ever brought me nothing but trouble where Crawford's concerned.

oOo

I gesture to the barman to pour me another, then flick my lighter on and off as I sit here, elbows resting on the bar, waiting on Shaun. Fucker never was good at being on time unless it suited him. Or maybe it's my nerves getting the better of me, making it seem like the clock is going backwards. I settle for sparking up another cigarette, them shove the lighter back in my pocket. Don't need to make it so damn obvious to him that I'm on edge.

Tell myself it's no big deal. That telling him I'm calling it quits is gonna be easy. Just need to say it, get it over with, get back to Leigh and all that's important to me. Concentrate on doing the right thing. 'Cause it ain't like I owe him anything. Not really. We were still kids—or least I was—when all that went down. And he'd have done the same to me, if he'd been in my shoes, I'm certain of that.

"Hey, Shepard!" Shaun calls out as he approaches, shaking me out of my thoughts. "Got someone I need you to meet. You remember Harris, right, you met the other day?" He gestures at the grubby looking guy trailing a couple of paces behind him and looking a little unsteady on his feet.

"Sure."

I'd met him last week, when me and Leigh had had the misfortune of running into him and Shaun outside the store. Still fucking remember the way he was staring at her, smirking, as he made some smarmy comment. Reminded me of Winston, the way he'd act around girls back when I was still in school, always making some smart mouthed comment that'd usually end up with the broad's fella trying to lay one on him and land him on his ass.

Shaun's attention is elsewhere already, as he orders more drinks. Guess I'll have to bide my time a bit longer. Or else just man up, take control of this situation, say my piece and get the hell out of here.

"So Harris here has been helping me out some on another job, haven't you?" Shaun says, grinning, as he claps one hand down on the other guy's shoulder and passes him a glass.

"Yeah, that's right," Harris replies his eyes darting between us, before he practically downs his drink in one. His eyes are glassy, like he's already pretty loaded.

And then Shaun is talking again, telling me all about some new sweet deal he's got lined up, how it'll be easy money for all of us, if the three of us work together on it and bring our respective skills to the table.

I'm not sold on his plan, don't think in a million years it'll go as smoothly or as easily as Shaun's suggesting. Ain't no way I'm prepared to get myself jailed again—not for either of these two losers. But then if I'm ducking out anyway it doesn't matter. Still, as Harris wanders off to the restroom I turn to Shaun, wonder if I can make my misgivings about his buddy into my excuse rather than my own cold feet.

"You really trust Harris? Think he can do a good job? Loser can barely walk straight he's so fucking wasted."

"No, course not. But everyone needs a fall guy, don't they, Tim? And there ain't no one around here who'll be complaining if a dick like Harris is the one who winds up getting caught."

"Yeah? And you think he won't talk? That he wouldn't sell you out quicker than anything if it meant getting himself out the shit?"

"Nah."

"What makes you so damn sure of that?"

"Harris might look like an idiot, but he ain't dumb enough to double cross me. Only someone real stupid would do something like that."

He grins at me, but I can't avoid the malice in his tone, get the message loud and clear, but before I can say anything in my defence he's off, trying his luck on some couple of broads over by the bar, leaving me to my own company until Harris lurches back across, rests one hand on my shoulder to steady himself.

"That guy sure has an eye for the ladies, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, always has," I mutter, shrugging Harris's hand off of me.

"So who was the broad you were with the other day? Shame she ain't here tonight 'cause I would've liked to get to know her a little better, that's for sure," he says, laughing to himself.

"Shut up," I murmur, turning my glass round and round, before setting it back down on the bar. Maybe he's doing it on purpose, or maybe he's just some fucking idiot who don't get that she ain't like the girls hanging around this place. Either way he don't take the hint that she's off-limits, just carries on talking.

"What?" Harris grins over at me. "Nice looking broad like that, reckon she'd be a handful in the sack. Come on, Tim, thought we were meant to be a team, be working together, so why not help a guy out? Pretty sure you could introduce me, if you wanted to."

And even though I know it's probably a dumb idea to let him know how much he's getting to me, I'm on my feet now, shoving him in the chest so he reels back a little, before I hit him square in the face.

"What the hell, man?" he asks, nursing his jaw before spitting out blood on the ground.

"You say anything like that again, I'll fucking kill you." I push him back into the table, sending glasses crashing to the floor then turn away. And I'm almost at the door when Shaun grabs a rough hold of my arm.

"Where d'you think you're going, Shepard?"

"Away from here, from you." I shake his hand off of my arm and glare at him. "I'm not doing it any more, Shaun. It was fun, for a while, but I ain't some punk kid no more and you don't get to tell me what to do. I don't want to wind up spending the rest of my life in jail over nothing."

"No course you don't, Tim; not if you can let someone else take the heat, eh?" He positions himself in front of me, blocking my path.

"Fuck off, Shaun. Everything that happened back then, you brought on yourself."

"Yeah? With a little bit of help though, wasn't it. Amazing how it all worked out so well for you."

"Whatever. I'm done here," I mutter, sidestepping round him, only he reaches out a hand, makes me pause again.

"You still owe me, Shepard, walk out that door now and I promise you, you'll regret it."

oOo

"So where are you hoping to find him, then, Tim?" Curly asks as we head further across town.

"There's that motel he was staying at, not far from that bar he's been using, down near the bus station. Figure there's a good chance he'll have spent last night celebrating, if he figures he's set me up to take the fall for what happened to Harris. Hopefully we'll get there early enough to take him by surprise."

"Yeah? You don't reckon he'll have skipped town then?"

"Crawford? No, smug bastard always did have a high opinion of himself, doubt that'll have changed one bit. Reckon he'll be hanging around to gloat a while if he thinks I'm really in trouble."

oOo

"This is the place, take a left, park up outside that store," Shaun mutters. He's alert and edgy now we've reached the town, sitting forward in the seat, drumming his fingers on the dash.

Nodding, I do like he says, follow his move and get out the car. "You sure you don't need me to come in, meet your new business partners?" I ask. Don't really want him to say yes, 'cause it'll screw up all I've got planned if he does, but then I need him to think I'm at least halfway interested in what's going down in there, make sure he don't get any more suspicious of me.

"Nah. Ain't exactly gonna make them think I'm serious about this if they think I've only got kids working for me, is it?" Shaun says, smirking at me.

Fucking asshole, I'm nearly fucking seventeen now, not some little fucking kid. And I _know_ I could do a better job than him; just 'cause he's older than me it don't make him any smarter. Not that I'm going to say that to his face—but it makes me all the more determined to go through with this, somehow. One way or another I won't be doing Shaun Crawford's dirty work much longer.

"Alright then." Kicking at a stone, I turn away, head towards the store.

"Where the hell d'you think you're going, Shepard?"

"Was gonna go buy some more smokes, for the drive home." I grin at him as I rest my hand on the glass, push the door open. "Don't worry, I ain't planning on disappearing on you."

"Yeah? You better not be."

Seems to take me forever to get served in this hick store. Think about lifting myself a couple packs, just for the hell of it. Only the old guy behind the counter is already shooting me suspicious glances every two seconds as he weighs out baloney and chats about the weather with some housewife as she ignores the baby crying in her arms, and I sure as hell don't need to draw any more attention to myself than is necessary.

So as I finally step back outside, fiddling with tearing open the carton and digging about for my lighter, I'm hoping he'll be here out here waiting like we arranged; that we can get out of here before Crawford realises I'm even involved. Only it ain't Winston standing alongside the car peering in the windshield, it's some cop, causes me to pull up short as my lighter clatters out of my hand and across the paving slabs.

The cop glances up, fixes his eyes on me.

"This your car, son?"

"No," I mumble, reaching down and retrieving my lighter.

"Yeah? You sure about that? Any reason you're hanging about round this neighbourhood?"

"Just been in the store while I'm waiting on a friend." I hold up the pack of smokes as evidence, hope he shuts up and leaves me be.

He nods, glances back at the car, before focusing back on me. I know I should walk away, carry on down the street like I really am just passing by, but my feet seem rooted to the spot as I stare back at him. 'Cause the cops being here sure as hell wasn't part of the plan.

No. The plan we'd cooked up between us back at Buck's place after that party at the weekend, then perfected over the next couple of days, was for Winston to sow the seeds of doubt on Crawford. For Dallas to stir things up with them guys it turned out he knew from the rodeo circuit that are the same group that Shaun is so desperate to get into business with. Ruin Crawford's rep once and for all with the rest the gang when they hear how he's fucked the deal up. And that Winston would be here today, waiting, so I can make it back out of town and make sure I can get the rest the gang onside—before Crawford has the first clue about what's really going on.

"So did you see anyone get in or out of this car, while you've been waiting for this friend of yours?" he asks.

"Um..." I don't know why it's so hard. 'Cause even though I want to make a hundred per cent sure Shaun gets what's coming to him, and I'm happy enough to screw up his deal and put him in danger of a beating from the guys he's trying to deal with, talking to the cops still feels like a different matter—it's just not something guys like us do. Ever. We settle things our own way.

Only turns out I don't have to say anything, as Winston's lazy drawl, that voice of his that's such a weird mix of New York and Tulsa, cuts through the air. "Yeah, officer, I seen the guy. He headed in that building over there, looked real shady to me, like he was planning to rob somebody, or dealing drugs or somethin' real bad like that."

"In there?" The cop looks real interested as his head snaps round to study Dallas. "You sure, kid?"

Dallas nods, real enthusiastic, his eyes wide, as he pushes his pale hair back from his brow, has the effect of making him appear younger than he is—so that if I didn't know him, couldn't see the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, then I reckon he'd even have me convinced that he was simply passing by and trying to be helpful; seems to have taken this dumb cop in with his act, anyhow.

"Yessir, the guy got out the car, took something out the trunk, went inside that old building over there."

The cop nods, turns back towards his partner who's still sitting in the cruiser, leans in the window to mutter something, before he utters something incomprehensible into his radio then finally drags himself out the car and they both disappear off across the road, oblivious to either of us.

Falling into step beside Dallas, we stride off down the street. Don't want to be in sight when—if—they drag Crawford out of there.

"So what the hell? Never figured I'd hear Dallas Winston giving information to a cop, voluntarily."

But Dallas just shrugs his shoulders, cracks a grin at me. "What's the problem? You wanted rid of him didn't you?"

"Well yeah, but I thought we'd got that sorted, with them guys you knew. That you'd persuaded them he was a double crossing jerk and they were gonna take care of him?"

"So maybe the opportunity was too good to miss? Always good to have a back-up plan, Tim, thought you of all people would have known that. Besides, it'll be a win-win if they pick up Tommy as well. Cheating jerk hasn't ever run an honest race in all the time I've been riding. Hopefully if the cops catch them with that much gear then they'll both get a few years. So how about you pick up the pace and we get off the sidewalk—reckon we'll get a good view of what's going on from in there, don't you?" And he gestures to the tiny diner on the opposite corner, the empty seats just inside the door. "Besides, I'm starving after that all that driving."

oOo

"Is this the place you mean?" Curly asks, slowing the car and pulling into the lot of the motel.

"Yeah, he's staying on the top landing, halfway along. Room two-seventeen." I gesture towards the dirty green door, paint peeling like all the rest, the numbers daubed on the outside visible from here. "You wait here for me," I say, as I push open the car door, about to step out onto the concrete. "Might be safer."

"Might be," Curly says with a shrug, "but are you really sure this is the best plan, Tim? Don't you think there's an easier way you could handle this, if you really want to get rid of Crawford for good?"

"Yeah?" I let my hand slide from the handle, twist a little to study my brother, surprised at how sure of himself he sounds right now. "So how d'you suggest I might manage that, then?"

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading, and also for the reviews. I hope you liked this chapter too :)


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

It's only as I'm halfway down the hall that it hits me how damn quiet the house is. The only sound is the creaking of the floorboards under my feet. I should be on a high after how well everything came together. But instead I'm here alone, with an uneasy feeling in my gut that maybe things ain't quite as straightforward as simply pretending all this shit with Crawford never happened.

I suppose Leigh's gone to Sylvia's; probably sat bitching to her about how much of a jerk I've been this time. Most likely she's trying to prove a point that she's not prepared to sit around the house waiting for me to screw things up any more than they already are.

And maybe it's just as well she isn't here to see me looking this much of a mess, with blood on my hands and dirt on my clothes. Gives me a chance to clean myself up; to keep the worst of what I've had to do—the side of me I most definitely ain't proud of—separate from her.

oOo

"So how does it feel to finally be top dog?" Dallas asks, grinning as he drops down the crumpled newspaper down in front of me.

"What's that?"

"Might want to go straight to page seven, court reports, although I guess you've heard the news already?"

"Yeah, I heard." Although I still grab a hold of the paper and quickly leaf through the pages, poring over the words until I spot his name three columns in; I want to see it in black and white, not have to make do with hearing it second hand from someone whose sister works with a guy who lives across the street from Crawford's aunt.

Scanning the brief article, is seems Crawford finally got what was coming to him; that he'll be spending the next few years in jail over the state border from the sounds of things, his sentence increased by him throwing a few punches at that cop and breaking his nose, getting booked for resisting arrest on top of being caught in there trying to make that deal with Tommy.

"So I guess the beers are on you then?" Dallas asks, lounging against the bar as he scans the room, smirks at some gaggle of broads hanging around watching the rest of the gang—my gang now, I guess—playing pool. "Being as you're the one who should be celebrating."

"Yeah, guess so," I reply with a sigh, signalling to Buck for a couple more beers.

"So how come you ain't a bit happier then?"

I shrug at him. Me and Miller have spent the last week ironing things out with the gang, cutting out the deadwood and the ones who I'm sure won't ever accept me as running the show; establishing things my way. Saying—or doing, I've had more than my fair share of scuffles this week—whatever has been necessary to make them all realise I ain't no pushover. Never thought it would be easy, but I never anticipated there'd be this much resistance, either. There's barely enough guys backing me for it to feel safe right now, although maybe a few more of them'll come round, once they realise there's no chance of Crawford coming back any time soon. Still could do with a few more people who I can count on to be loyal to me though, just to be on the safe side—which is how I find myself making the offer to him. Even if Nick thinks I'm crazy to even be considering it and that there's no way on this earth I should be putting my trust in Dallas Winston. But then he did come through for me with Crawford, so I guess it's worth a try.

"So, there's a place for you, Winston, if you're interested?"

Only Dallas doesn't say yes, or thank me, or even look surprised; instead he stands there and flat out laughs at me.

"What the hell's so funny?" I demand. "You helped me out on this, figured I owed you the opportunity to come on board with us."

"Yeah, you owe me alright, Tim. Only I ain't exactly suited to following orders, figured you knew that already. And besides," he says, gesturing to my bruised knuckles, "you don't need me getting involved, stirring up even more trouble for you. Looks like you're having enough problems with that as it is."

But before I can answer, Dallas is talking about something else, shooting his mouth off about which broad he likes the look of, bragging that he's going to go try his luck with her—even though she don't seem the slightest bit interested in him, and she's already got some other guy with her anyway.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around then, Tim," he cracks a grin at me. "Wish me luck?"

"Yeah, I reckon you're gonna need it." Reckon we both will.

oOo

Pulling open the fridge, I grab a beer, pop the cap and head down the hall. Find myself smiling at that photo of the two of us on the hall table, the day we got married. Leigh so damn beautiful, the pair of us so fucking happy, so together, like nothing could ever come between us. Going outside, I sit on the front steps in the last of the evening sun, light myself a smoke and let the minutes tick by as I stare out at the street and wait for her to come home to me. Now I've figured out what's important, I'm impatient for things to get back to how they used to be—how they're supposed to be—again.

oOo

Tapping on the door, I count to ten, keep my mouth shut as I wait, resisting the temptation to put my shoulder against the flimsy ply board and force my way in. Tapping again, I'm beginning to think that I'm too late and he's maybe skipped town already, when finally Crawford jerks the door open a crack, peers through at me.

"Shepard? What the hell, wasn't expecting to see you this morning," he mutters.

Resist the temptation to make some smart comment back at him, instead I make like I ain't mad at him, or well aware of how he's tried to stitch me up; hope he buys that I'm here to help.

"I've come give you the heads up, man, a warning."

"Yeah? What about?"

Casting my eyes up and down the corridor like I'm nervous or something, I push for him to let me in. "Don't know that standing in the corridors the best place to talk about it, never know who might be listening. So d'you wanna let me in?"

"I don't know, I'm kinda busy right now," he says, smirking at me.

"C'mon, Shaun, I wouldn't be here if it ain't important," I persist, hoping he hasn't spotted Curly lurking a few feet to my left.

Shaun sighs, but nods at me anyway. "Yeah, yeah, alright. This better not take long though."

As soon as I'm in through the threshold I'm on him, have him pinned up against the wall by the throat, while the girl he's with lets out a small scream, pulls the sheets tighter around herself.

"Get your clothes and get the hell out," I snarl, as she nods, hurriedly pulls on her dress then runs out the door clutching her shoes.

Shaun struggles against me, but I guess I'm stronger than he's expecting these days. Throwing a punch that sends him reeling, I shove him towards the one chair in the room, as Curly takes a quick glance along the hallway before closing the door, positioning himself in front of it.

"Sit yourself down, Shaun, me and you got some talking to do."

oOo

I'm starting to get real twitchy, and I head back inside and pick up the phone, my fingers hovering over the dial before I let the receiver drop back down with a thud. 'Cause really, what in hell do I say? ' _Hey, Sylv, you got any idea where Leigh might be right now? 'Cause I don't_.'

No way would Leigh stay out this late. Not if she's only gone to visit someone…but then maybe something's happened to her. What if there's been some accident? Or that wreck of a car I let her drive around in—'cause there's always something more pressing, some other bill that we need to be spending what little cash we've got spare on—has broken down again and she's stuck waiting, hoping for someone to pass by and help her? But no, that's ridiculous, 'cause Sylv's place ain't that far away and she'd abandon it, walk home instead...No, she's got to be doing it to wind me up, has to be…But then what if she's sick, been taken ill? She hasn't been well this whole weekend since I got back from the police station. What if she's not just tired and there's actually something really wrong with her and she's in the hospital, or...

Christ. I don't know what to do. Need my mind to stop racing, something to focus on. My eyes fall on the photo again, and I reach out for it. Spot for the first time the folded sheet of paper lying beside it with my name on it, in her neat, looping handwriting. Wonder how in hell I could have missed it earlier.

Snatching it up, I devour the words, the bright blue ink too cheerful for the fucking message it contains, that I already half know it's going to say before I unfold the damn thing. Only seeing it spelt out in front of me means I can't fucking pretend it ain't real no more. Should have listened to her, listened to my brother. Instead of always thinking I know best all the damn time. Maybe then I wouldn't be in this mess, lurching from one nightmare to the next. Feel the panic rising me as I've got no clue what to do about this. Which is ridiculous, that after everything else I've done today, this is the thing that finally reduces me to a fucking wreck.

Screwing the paper into a ball I toss it to the floor, before changing my mind, reaching down and grabbing it up, smoothing it out and reading it again and again—like somehow that'll make any difference, bring her back to me.

 _...seems that I'm not what you want, that being here with me won't ever be enough for you... I love you, but right now that doesn't feel like it's enough for you...maybe we both need a little time apart, see if there's anything left worth saving, if that's even what you want..._

How can it not be enough? Surely she has to know what she means to me, how much I need her. Hell if it wasn't for us making a go of this, her giving me a reason to try, then I'd be back in jail for sure, or worse, maybe even ended up like Winston. Only if Leigh doesn't even want me, then what was the damn point in me trying to fix things, in what I've done today?

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging above the table on the hallway wall. See myself looking worse for wear and rough around the edges—like some fucking hood that hasn't changed one bit from the punk kid I used to be back when we first met. No fucking wonder she ain't prepared to stick around no more. My palms itching, I swing at it, the glass shattering beneath my fist as I hit it once, twice, three times, blood pouring from my knuckles.

Stumbling to the kitchen I ignore the pain shooting through my arm and the fact I can barely move my fingers any more and drag open the cabinet, rooting around for whatever half-drunk booze we've got left lying around. Sinking down to the floor, I take a swig straight out the bottle and try to shut it all out. Only it seems I can't, instead I end up playing out all the fights we've had over the last month again and again, intermingled with memories of the good times the pair of us have had here in this house.

oOo

The television is on even though neither of us is watching it, as Leigh curls into my side, smiles up as she wraps an arm around me, and kisses me. The first official day in our new place, all her stuff moved in, the keys to that crappy apartment handed back. I should be real happy, enjoying the moment, only I find I can't relax quite yet. Instead I push myself up and away, head towards the bedroom.

"Everything okay?" Leigh asks, a small frown clouding her face.

"Yeah." I don't stop though; need to do this before I can change my mind. Rummaging in my dresser I finally locate the thing I'm searching for, hidden away at the back of the drawer safely out of sight beneath some old, faded shirts. I'd planned on doing this next week, on her birthday. Only I don't know that I can wait that long. But it turns out I need to know what she'll say, right now, even if it's not the response I'm praying I'll hear.

But then as I turn it over in my hands I wonder if maybe I should leave it, not rock the boat quite yet. 'Cause things are pretty damn perfect as they are—and what if she doesn't give me the answer I'm hoping for and me doing this, rushing things, means it all goes to hell? So maybe I should leave things well alone, not push my luck. Find myself shoving the box hastily into the pocket of my jeans as I hear the floorboards outside the door creaking under her soft footsteps; and I turn to face her as she lays her hand on my arm, her expression one of concern.

"Tim? What's going on, what's bothering you?"

"Nothing." I run a hand through my hair, stare at the floor, at the door, and then back at the floor as the room feels small, airless, despite the windows being wide open and the evening breeze blowing through.

"Having second thoughts about me already?" Leigh asks, although she's smiling as she slips her arms around my neck and kisses me, so I know she don't really mean it.

"Course not. It's just... I..." Guess it's now or never, if I'm going to do this. Even if it does feel a hundred times harder than anything I've ever done before. Take a deep breath, words spilling out now as I say my piece, making no sense at all. "Here, I got you something."

Fishing it back out of my pocket I hand it over and watch for her reaction; scanning her face for any sign, good or bad, as she opens it then glances between the contents and me, like she's not entirely sure what to make of it. I find myself jabbering away, talking nonsense as I attempt to fill the silence that's hanging between us.

"Didn't want anyone saying shit about you, for moving in here with me. Figured we could maybe make it something more permanent sometime. If you want to, that is?"

She bites her lip as she finally pulls the ring out of the black velvet lining, turns it about between her fingers, before focusing back on me.

"Damn it, Leigh. Will you say something? It ain't stolen or nothing." Hell, I know it ain't exactly anything flashy, but I spent the best part of two weeks' pay, saving all my spare cash for months to buy this for her; needing to do this right, from the start.

"Didn't for one second think it was," she says, grinning a little.

"Do you like it at least?"

Her smile widens as she turns the ring between her fingers, holding it tentatively, not putting it on though. "Yeah, of course I do. I love it; it's beautiful, perfect... but..."

"But?"

Her face is suddenly serious again as she puts the question to me. "Are you sure you really mean what you're asking, that you want this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. So what do you say, d'you think we can make a go of it?"

"Yes," she replies, finally sliding the ring onto her finger, and I pull her back into my arms and kiss her as her hands tangle in my hair and the rest of the world is forgotten.

oOo

I might have finally wised up to what's important and shaken off Crawford, but at what cost? Because right now it feels a hell of a lot like he's still the one who's come out on top in all of this, not me. I go to take another sip, realise the bottle is empty and throw it at across the room, watch as it shatters against the back door, before dragging myself to my feet and out of the house; wandering the streets until I'm finally, somehow there; standing on the front porch, hammering on the door.

"Tim." It's Sylvia's husband, Mike, who answers the door, stony faced as he stands there, arms folded, watching me—while I try to look composed and stand up straight, like I haven't just sunk the best part of a bottle of some godawful cheap liquor on an empty stomach. I shove my hands in my pockets, hoping he hasn't noticed my self-inflicted injuries.

"Is Leigh here, I need to see her, Mike, just for a minute?" I ask, even though I know she has to be, on account of her car being parked up across the street.

"You been drinking?" he asks, only I don't get to answer as Sylvia appears at his side, her youngest kid grizzling in her arms as she decides to get involved in this as well.

"Don't know that that's a good idea right now, do you, Tim? Thought she'd asked you to give her some space, but seems you can't even leave it alone for one day?"

"This is between the two of us, Sylv, I need—"

"Yeah, it's always about you and what you want, ain't it Tim? You never did deserve her; she always was too good for you."

"You think I don't know that?" I mutter. "I'm not leaving 'til I've at least seen her, 'til I know she's okay," I persist.

"Yeah?" Sylvia says, handing the baby to Mike, her hands on her hips as she glares at me. "And you think you bothering her when she don't want to see you is gonna make things better? Don't think I won't call the cops on you, Tim Shepard, if you don't get your ass off of my porch when I tell you to; coming round here making some scene like you're still fucking fifteen, thinking if you shout loud enough you'll get your way. Well I ain't scared of you, so think again."

"Please, Sylvia?"

"No. She's spent the whole fucking day crying over you and the shit way you've been acting lately. Finally persuaded her to go lie down about an hour ago. She's exhausted Tim, looks like she's hardly slept in days, so if you and all your damn racket hasn't disturbed her then there's no way on this earth I'm gonna go wake her now."

"Is she alright? I—"

"Course she's not alright, you dumbass." Sylvia retorts, rolling her eyes at me, her tone softening a little as she continues. "So how about you go home and sober up? Maybe if you come back when you ain't blitzed—and give her a little time, prove you actually give a damn about her feelings in all this—then perhaps she'll be ready to listen to you."

For a half second I think about pushing past Sylvia in to the house, finding Leigh and bringing her home with me, where she belongs. Sylv's all talk, and Mike couldn't stop me, he ain't no match for me, never has been. But then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in in the glass of the door. Realise that Sylv's right, I'm a fucking mess, and that me being here right now is only going to make things worse.

"Yeah, okay." I start to walk away, take a couple of steps before I turn and glance back at her. "Hey, Sylv."

"Yeah?"

"Tell Leigh..." _that I know I screwed up and I'm an idiot, risking all we had over nothing; that I miss her already; that I love her so damn much..._

"Tell her what, Tim?" Sylvia snaps, with a sigh.

"Just tell her that I stopped by?"

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading, and for the reviews too. I hope you liked this chapter too—there's not too much further left to go in this story :)


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading, and for the reviews, I really appreciate it; hope you enjoy this chapter too :) Getting close to the end of this story...hopefully just one more chapter to go after this one!

* * *

 **ELEVEN**

I'm hunting through the closet in search of a clean work shirt, only there aren't any hanging up. Cursing to myself I remember the stack of laundry, all washed and neatly folded in the kitchen; untouched since Leigh was last here. Hurrying across the hall I grab at a shirt and tug it out the pile, causing everything above it to topple onto the floor. Guess I can just about get away with wearing it as it is, ain't exactly like my job involves me having to look smart and I ain't exactly got time to do nothing about it now. Not that I care what anyone there thinks of me, anyway.

Pulling it over my head, I cast my eyes round the room in search of my car keys when the shrill ring of the phone cuts through the silence. Ignoring it, I push my feet into my shoes, relieved when the noise eventually stops, 'cause it's probably only Curly and I'm not exactly in the mood for being social right now, don't want to have to admit to him, or anyone, how bad I've screwed things up.

Only as I head down the hall, it starts up ringing again, over and over. Snatching up the receiver I bark a rough hello down the line.

"Tim?"

It's been three days now that Leigh's been gone, since I last heard her voice, and now when she does call, I'm snapping at her like some kind of fucking jerk.

"Yeah, it's me," I reply, hoping I don't sound so harsh now, as my brain works overtime, running through all the possible reasons—good and bad—why she could be calling me right now. "Are you okay, Leigh? Are you coming home?"

"I think we maybe need to talk some?" she asks, uncertainly, her voice soft as she avoids answering my question, like she's half expecting me to say no, or start yelling at her. "So, would it be okay for me to come over? Maybe after you get off of work tonight? That is, if you want to see me, if it's alright?"

"Jesus, Leigh, of course it's all right. And you don't need to ask, I mean it's still your home too ain't it?"

Only she doesn't exactly answer that either, just pauses for a second or two, before she says her goodbyes. "Well, alright then. I've got to go, but I'll see you later, Tim, about six."

And before I can say anything in response, she's gone, hanging up, leaving me clutching the phone as the dial tone rings in my ear.

Since she's been gone, this last couple of evenings and the nights—when I'm rattling around the house with nothing but my own thoughts for company—have been unbearable. 'Cause no matter how I try to remember the good stuff, I always end up circling round to everything I've done wrong; how I'm so much like the old man, taking it for granted that she'd always be here. How bad I've let her down.

oOo

"Hey, Ma." I slide into the seat opposite her, rest my elbows on the table. "Where's Harry?" I ask, hoping to hell he's not around. Waiting for her to answer so I can judge how out of it she is, how many of these damn pills she's taken so far today. Hopefully I've timed it well enough that she's close to due the next dose, might pay some attention to what I'm saying.

Ma shrugs at me. "He ain't home. So how come you're here, Tim? Are you in some kind of trouble? 'Cause you know I don't have no money, can't help you out—"

"What? No. Why d'you have to think the worst of me all the damn time? I ain't in any trouble. I've got some news for you." And before I can change my mind I'm telling her our plans; how me and Leigh are gonna get married, real soon. Nothing fancy, just with family, maybe a couple of our friends, down the courthouse, 'cause we don't exactly have a lot of spare cash. But at least I might be the first person in our family in a long time to be getting married because I want to, not 'cause I have to or 'cause there's no other option.

Seems the same thought is Ma's mind too, if her question is anything to go by though. "Why, has she got herself in trouble? Are you sure she isn't using you, Tim? Trying to take advantage of you?"

"What? No! Ma, it ain't nothing like that. She's not…I mean..." I pause, count to ten, remind myself that it ain't worth getting upset about what my Ma thinks of us. "We just want to, is all."

"Oh," she mumbles, then turns her attention back to the newspaper in front of her, smoothing out the page.

"So will you come, Ma?" I ask, surprising myself with quite how much I want her to say yes, to be there and be a part of this. Wonder if it seems as important to her—or if she simply doesn't care—as she sits there, staring at the page in front of her. Wonder if she's even taken in a word I've said.

The pair of us sit there at the kitchen table in silence, for God knows how long, with Ma reading her newspaper and me fiddling with her pill bottles, reading the labels until it's obvious she ain't got nothing else to say to me, that I'm wasting my time even being here.

Getting to my feet, my eyes are on the floor, not Ma, as the question—the one thing that's been playing on my mind ever since we got that place together and I proposed to Leigh—slips out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "You think I'm doing the right thing, Ma? Or am I gonna end up making a mess of this, be the same as Dad? 'Cause Leigh deserves better than that."

Only Ma don't say nothing, just stares at me, like I'm a fucking stranger or something. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that she doesn't have any answers for me; hell, even if she did it probably wouldn't be anything I'd want to hear, anyway. Suppose I should have known better than to think she would believe I could succeed at something, be any more than a lowlife hood like my old man was, to think she would care about whether I'm happy or not.

Sighing, I rest a hand on her shoulder, say my goodbyes. I'm almost in the hall when she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper, "You're a good boy, Tim; you'll do just fine, you ain't nothing like your father."

oOo

Pulling into our drive, my stomach flips a little as I realise the front door is ajar. It's only five thirty, so I guess Leigh has got here early. Trying to keep my pace normal, I quickly cross the ground between my car and the house, find myself bolting up the front steps two at a time as I call out to her. Hoping to hell this is a good thing, that it means she's come back for good, and she's prepared to give me a second chance to prove I can do this right; try not to think about the other option—that she's only here to get it settled quickly and tell me it's over for good this time.

"Leigh, honey, are you here?" I call out, heading down the hall, past the sitting room, towards the kitchen.

Only before I realise what's happening, I'm down on the floor. A blow across the middle of my back sending me sprawling to my knees as the pain radiates through my body.

Shifting my weight a little I glance up, 'cause the voice that greets me most definitely isn't Leigh's; makes me sick to my stomach, as Crawford steps out the sitting room doorway and stands over me, laughing, a length of heavy piping in his right hand.

I'm officially an idiot. Let myself get blind-sided by the prospect of seeing her again, 'cause really I should have known better. Should have realised it wasn't her, 'cause the car ain't out front and no way she would leave the door open like that.

"Now why on earth," Shaun says, lazily picking up the crumpled sheet of paper from the table with his left hand and waving it in my direction, "would you think she'd be here? Seems she made it pretty clear in this what she thinks of you these days, Tim. So are you really that pathetic that you're hoping she'd just up and change her mind? Come running back to a loser like _you_?"

"Put it down," I mutter. The only good thing about his reaction is that it confirms Leigh's not here after all; that he hasn't done something to hurt her.

"What was that?" Shaun asks, "Cause I don't reckon you're in any position to be making demands right now, do you?"

"I said, put it down." Can't bear that he's read it, that he's aware of exactly how bad things are between us. Need to pull myself together though, and figure out what in hell he's planning, maybe keep him talking while I regather my wits and catch my breath, if I've got any hope of getting out of this relatively unscathed. "Why are you here, Shaun? I thought the last time we spoke that we both agreed it was best if you left town for good?"

oOo

"So what've you got to say to me then, Tim, that's so damn important you got to bring the kid with you, waving that around like he thinks he's in some fucking cowboy movie? Probably never fired a gun in his whole damn life," Crawford asks, taking a drag on his cigarette as he smirks at Curly who's standing in front of the door with the gun in his hands—apparently completely unfazed by the pair of us bursting in here.

"You're a fucking asshole, Shaun," I snap. "What the hell are you playing at, trying to get me sent down for what you done to Harris? I thought we were supposed to be friends?"

"Yeah? Well I used to think the same, Tim, but you made it clear a long while back you were only ever interested in yourself." He gets to his feet now, takes another drag on his smoke and exhales deeply, so the smoke surrounds me, the scent of tobacco hanging heavy in the air. "Now, are you gonna do whatever the hell it is you've come here to do, or are you gonna get out my way?" he sneers.

I know I need to be calmer, but his whole attitude—the fact he don't seem to be taking this seriously at all—is pissing me off, and before he realises what I'm doing I swing at him, catch him square in the jaw with a quick punch.

"But why come back now, after all these years?" I demand, shoving him into the wall again as he wipes at the blood pouring from his nose.

Shaun shrugs. "Well, you know, I was kinda busy being in jail. See, I spent six damn years in that hell hole, got my sentence extended a couple times while I was in there, for troublemaking," he says, laughing to himself. "Then I guess I was busy trying to make ends meet on the outside. Always had it in mind that I'd come pay you a visit sometime though, Shepard, make sure you got what was coming to you for what you did to me. Thought of making you suffer some sure helped get me through the long days on the inside."

"Jesus, Shaun, I ain't the same fucking kid I was back then, and it ain't like I called the cops on you that day."

"Yeah, right, Shepard. Don't try to play fucking innocent with me. We both know full well you had designs on being in charge, that if I hadn't got sent down then, that you'd have kept trying; would have had some other scheme on some other day to get me out the picture. And are you sure you've changed all that much? Seems to me you didn't need much persuading to get caught back up with me and being on the wrong side of the law again. Being the honest family man not all it's cracked up to be, eh?"

I try to ignore his dig at me, the fact it's not so far from the mark of what Leigh and my brother have both been suggesting to me recently, and grab a tighter hold of his shirt. "So you thought you'd kill two birds with one stone, so to speak? Put Harris out the picture and get some kind of revenge on me?"

"Yeah, well done, Tim. Always said you were a smart kid," he says, his tone making it obvious he's mocking me. "Question is, what you aiming to do about it, now you've finally figured it out? I mean turning up here spoiling for a fight, waving a gun around, ain't exactly gonna get you out the shit with the cops, is it?"

"Nah, but putting you out of action sure might make me feel a little better." I can feel my left hand balling into a fist at my side, as Crawford shifts a little under the weight of my arm. It won't be more than a few seconds now, until the fight is on. Especially not when I tell him my last ace, Curly's idea to throw into the mix; not if he buys it as being true. "Besides, seems I ain't got to worry about them no more, anyway."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"See, my brother there," I say, nodding slightly at Curly, "he did himself a little hospital visiting, before we came here. Knows a girl, who works over the Emergency Room. Turns out you didn't do a good enough job on Harris as you thought."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Seems he's finally woken up. And now he has he won't shut up. He's in there all safe and secure, chatting to the nurses, the cops, hell anyone who'll listen, telling 'em exactly who it was took him out that night. And your name has been coming up rather a lot."

"Your bluffing," Shaun growls.

"You sure you're prepared to risk it, Shaun?"

And then we're brawling, the room a blur as I wildly throw punches at him, manage to knock him to the floor as he stumbles against the corner of the bed, seize my advantage and carry on pounding on him until he finally stops fighting back, just lays there bleeding on the grubby carpet. Grabbing the gun out of Curly's hands, I hold it to Shaun's head.

"Get the hell up, Shaun."

Slowly he sits himself up, gets to his feet, and with one hand on his shoulder, the other remaining on the gun, I nudge him in the direction of the door.

"Why? Where you taking me, Tim? Some place quiet where you can finish the job?" Shaun asks, the sneer still present in his tone as we cross the lot towards his car. "You sure you got the balls for something like that?"

"What makes you think this is the first time I've ever had to get rid of someone?" I reply, my voice low, hoping I sound calm, like I'm prepared to follow through with this if I need to—not that it was the worst thing I've ever done, the thing I try so hard not to ever remember, to pretend never happened.

Shaun swallows as he glares at me, finally silent as he studies me.

"So here's the deal, I'll give you one last chance, for old times' sake and all. So how about you get in the damn car, Shaun? Start the engine, and get the hell outta town. You do that, and we'll call it quits. Just don't ever fucking show your face around here again, understand?"

oOo

Leigh's note to me floats down to the floor out of Shaun's hand, before he takes another step closer to me, can't take my eyes off of his boot as it crushes the page against the floorboards. "Thought you knew me better than that; you should have finished me when you had the chance, Tim."

"Yeah. Guess I probably should."

I'm at a disadvantage here; crouched down on the hall floor while he stands over me, with that bloodstained piece of pipe in his hands. Wish to God I'd made it as far as the kitchen, could maybe grab a knife, go at him with that. First time in fucking ages I've wished I still carried a blade.

Or that I was nearer the hall table, where the old man's hand gun lies right now, in the drawer. Should have used the damn thing the other day, instead of imagining I could scare him, talk my way out of this mess. Lunging for the table, I grab at the drawer handle, rattling it on its runners as I try to tug it open, finally manage to snatch the gun out, but Shaun catches me again across the forearm, the full force of his blow sending the gun sliding and skidding across the floor towards the front door.

And then he's hitting at me, over and over, don't give me any chance to get up, or move as he yells; cursing at me, calling me out for all I ever did to him when we were kids, how he wants to make suffer. Seems he's completely out of control now as I do what I can to fight back, but it ain't exactly easy. Not with one hand pretty much out of action from when I lost it at the weekend and him with a weapon to his advantage too.

So about all I can do is try to fend off the worst of his blows, try not to think that maybe Shaun Crawford's gloating face might be the last thing I ever see.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!"

Shaun pauses, turns his head slightly towards the voice and glances over his shoulder.

Figure I really must be close to the end, 'cause my brain has to be playing tricks on me, as there can't be any way that I can really hear Leigh speaking, 'cause she isn't even in the house. Only as she calls out my name again I remember she's coming here to meet me, wish to God she hadn't though, as Crawford's laughter and loud, brash voice drowns her out.

"Why don't you hand that over, sweetheart, before you hurt yourself?"

Forcing myself to concentrate I manage to focus on Leigh's silhouette, the evening sun behind her and the old man's gun clutched in her shaking hands as she points it at Shaun.

"No. Get the hell out of my house and leave him alone," she demands, taking a half step backwards as he edges confidently towards her, grabbing at her.

Finding strength I didn't know I still had, I struggle to my feet and yell out for her to get out of here, watching helplessly as Shaun shoves her back against the wall, the pair of them stumbling as they struggle.

Feels like the room is spinning as I try to drag myself towards her. Only I don't get close, the loud crack of the gunshot ringing in my ears, as the ground rushes up to meet me and my world goes black.


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE**

There's movement across the room, footsteps against the tiles, but despite the bright lights I can't see who it is. My left eye is swollen shut from the beating I've taken so I crane my neck sideways, trying to make out who is here in the room with me.

"Leigh?" My voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper, sounds strange to my ears—like its someone else speaking, not me.

An image of Shaun hitting out at her, her falling, the gunshot ringing in my ears, flashes through my mind. Find myself calling out her name again, as I attempt to sit up. But the slightest movement sends a fierce pain shooting through my forehead, through my chest, across my whole body, causes me to hiss in a breath as I barely manage to stop myself from cursing. Try to ignore the overwhelming wave of disappointment that hurts worse than all of that combined as I realise it's not Leigh, that it's only a nurse, her pen scratching across the paper as she writes on my chart.

"Keep still, Mr Shepard, please, try to relax. Are you in pain still? I can talk to the doctor about adjusting your medication a little if you are?" The nurse asks as she steps a little closer to me.

Shaking my head, I continue to struggle to move. "No. I don't need any more painkillers, I need to see my wife. Do you know where she is? Was she hurt?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know; "she says, smiling at me, resting her hand on my arm, "I've only recently started my shift."

"I need to get out of here," I persist, pushing her hand away and clawing at the dressing where the drip is attached to my arm, desperate to get out this damn bed even though I seem barely able to move. But that doesn't matter, I don't care about what's happened to me, just about finding Leigh and knowing she's okay.

Only the nurse stays standing over me at my bedside, checks the dressings on my arm as she rests a hand gently against my shoulder, and I'm still so fucking weak that the light pressure is enough to stop me struggling.

"Please, Mr Shepard, you need to keep calm. You've some serious injuries and you're in no condition to be going anywhere right now. But if you lie still, I'll go find out exactly what's been happening for you, I promise."

Nodding, I let my head rest back against the pillows. Close my eyes. Just for a second.

oOo

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I fix a smirk onto my face and turn into the quiet hospital room.

"Afternoon, Winston. Hear you're quite the celebrity these days."

Dallas glares at me, before snatching up the newspaper I've dropped down on his lap, his eyes scanning the front page, that's filled with pictures of him and the Curtis boys, and columns reporting all that's happened this past week, before his eyes settles on the image of that Cade kid. Scowling, he tosses the paper to the floor.

"Fucking rubbish. They don't have the first clue, saying shit like that about Johnny. You got any smokes?"

"Well that's obvious, if they think you're some kind of hero. Ain't they seen your record?" I ask, pulling a half-empty cigarette carton from my back pocket and tossing it at him.

"Fuck off, Shepard, not everyone can be a loser like you. Heard you managed to screw things up good and proper with that broad of yours, that she's real popular with the guys outta Brumly these days," he says raising his eyebrows as he smirks at me.

"Yeah?" I snap, trying to ignore the tight feeling in my chest at the mention of Leigh, how much I've been missing her since I made a mess of things—since I acted like a prize fucking idiot and she won't barely even look at me, much less give me the time of day; not that I'm gonna let on to him how much it's been bothering me. "Like you can talk. How's Sylv these days?" I taunt, making it obvious I can see the heavy ring that's back on his hand, not hanging off the chain he'd spent so much time bragging about giving her.

"Hell, I'm better off without her. Caring about people don't get you nowhere, Tim, thought you'd have realised that by now," he mutters bitterly. "I mean it's bad enough you waste so much time running round after that brother and sister of yours, without letting yourself get so hung up over some broad too."

"Yeah, well, least I've got family to give a damn about," I snap back. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't wasted my time coming down here, 'cause I'm not exactly in the mood to talk about my mistakes, especially not with him. Figure the easiest way to get him to drop it is to irritate him a little more, make him think about something other than me. "Your old man been in?"

"Yeah, right, reckon I've had everyone but—doctors, social workers, cops, the works. Only reason he'd come down here would be to give me an earbashing over how much this is all gonna cost him." He laughs, a hard bitter laugh, 'cause we both know he ain't joking, that his old man don't give a fuck about him lying there bruised and bandaged.

"So it looks like you'll miss the rumble tonight then, being as they've still got you cooped up in here?"

Dallas scowls at me. "No, I'll be there. No matter what, we've got to do what's right, not let the socs get away with what they've done to Johnny."

"Yeah? I thought you said you didn't care about no one but yourself, Winston?" I ask as I stroll towards the door.

He glares at me, don't say another word though.

oOo

Someone coughs, bringing me fully awake.

Mr Shepard?"

"Yeah?" I ask, recognising the voice even before Evans ambles into my line of sight, leaning over me, while Murphy fills the doorway behind him.

"You up to answering a couple of questions?"

"Guess so."

"So, can you tell us what happened at you house earlier today?" he asks as he drags the one chair in the room a little closer to my bed, settles himself into it.

With as much of a shrug as I can manage right now, I turn my head a little and look at him. Guess there's no point in hiding the truth no more. "After you let me go home, I went to confront Shaun, find out what he knew about Harris."

"Shaun Crawford?"

"Yeah. Nothing much happened then though. We talked for a while. But I suppose he thought fitting me up hadn't worked, that he'd have to have another go at taking me out. Was waiting in my house when I got back from work today, got the jump on me."

"And why exactly would Mr Crawford be wanting to attack you?"

"I don't know, guy's crazy, always has been. Didn't like me telling him I wasn't interested in getting in no more trouble, that I've put all that stuff I used to do back when I was a kid behind me these days. Guess that pissed him off some."

"Anyone else there in the house?"

"No."

He glances at Murphy, at the small notebook in his hand, shakes his head. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah. It was just me and Crawford. Until—" I pause, I really don't want to drag Leigh into this, but they've got to know already she was there. And if I help them out then the might tell me something, let me know that she's okay. "Until my wife came home too."

"Yeah? So has she not been in the house?" Murphy asks with a smirk. " Things been a little difficult between the pair of you, Mr Shepard?"

"That ain't none of your business," I snap. "Is she here, in the hospital, is she all right? No one seems to want to tell me anything."

Only he don't answer my question, just asks another of his own. "Neighbours report hearing a gunshot, Mr Shepard, shortly after your wife arrived in the house. You know anything about that?"

"No, she wasn't involved, it ain't her fault," I mutter, repeating myself over and over, until finally the nurse asks them to leave and I'm left alone with only my imagination for company again, find my mind drifting away from here; away from the nightmare my life has turned into.

oOo

I watch until the last few stragglers—Nick and the girl he's dating this month, my brother and some buddy of his—turn out of our drive and onto the sidewalk before I push the front door shut, let out a sigh of relief. The house is finally empty; family and friends have all gone home and at last it's just the two of us, alone again.

Heading back down the hall, I find Leigh in the kitchen, piling up plates next to the sink, and I stop to watch her for a minute. So damn pretty, so perfect. Shifting my weight a little, the floorboards creak beneath my feet, and she glances at me.

"You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna help me tidy this place up?" she asks, smiling.

Everyone my whole life has been telling me I'd never be anything, never get anywhere. Everyone except her, the one person who believes in me. So I'm gonna prove the rest of them wrong, make a go of this, 'cause there's no way on earth I'm ever gonna ever let her down.

Crossing the room, I slip an arm around her, pull her close to me.

"How about we leave this 'til the morning?" I ask, kissing her, one hand on the small of her back as the other tangles in her hair. "Only I've been waiting all day to get to spend some time alone with you, Mrs Shepard, and I ain't planning on spending our wedding night doing the dishes."

oOo

As the medication starts to wear off and I come to, I glance across the room, realise with a start that I ain't alone, 'cause Leigh's there, curled up awkwardly in the chair with her feet tucked up and her head resting against her arm.

"Leigh? You're really here?" I demand, stretching out my hand towards her, trying to turn towards her, to see her more clearly and make sure I'm not imagining it, that the drugs aren't making me see things again, that I ain't dreaming still.

"Hey, don't move, it's alright, you're alright, I'm here," she says, her voice low and soothing as she crosses the room and settles on the edge of the bed.

Looking up at her, I notice for the first time the bruises to her face, the taped-up cut on her forehead, the grazes on her arms—and I can feel the anger rising in my chest, the guilt that this is all my fault, that the only reason she's been hurt is because of me and my own stupidity.

"Jesus, sweetheart, what in hell did he do to you? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she says with a shrug, "I'm okay, I guess. My head hurts, but it's not all that bad—least not compared to what he tried to do to you, anyways."

"And Shaun? What happened to him?"

Leigh swallows, glances towards the door, won't look at me when she finally starts speaking. "He…I… when he tried to grab the gun off of me…I guess it went off in the struggle. I'm not entirely sure what happened, seems I hit my head on the table when I fell, got knocked out cold for a few minutes. Think the neighbours must have heard the commotion, called the cops or the ambulance or something, 'cause when I came round again the house was full of people."

"So did the cops arrest him?"

"No."

"No?" I snap, reaching out and brushing the hair back from her face, gesturing towards her cuts. "He does this to you and they don't do nothing about it? Fucking assholes have been in here questioning me like it's my fault, but they let him go—"

"Tim, they didn't arrest him because they can't. Not yet, anyways."

"What d'you mean?"

"He…" Her voice falters as she twists her hands together, stares down at her bloodstained dress. "It turns out he was shot, when he grabbed a hold of the gun." Leigh's eyes are wide, shining with tears and she clutches tightly at my hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it, Tim, I thought he was gonna…that he...that he would kill you. I just wanted him to stop, to leave you alone, for things to be right between us again, how they used to be. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not like that."

She's shaking, I can feel her trembling as she sits beside me and I know I should be saying something to reassure her, but I'm so damn wound up that I can't seem to keep calm or think straight; find myself throwing a never ending string of questions at her instead.

"Hell, it ain't your fault, it's his. He's the one who went for you, wasn't he?"

"Suppose so."

"Well what did the cops say? They ain't holding you responsible for this are they? 'Cause I won't let them take you from me. I'll tell 'em I shot him if I have to, but you can't get sent away; there's no way on this earth that I'll ever let that happen."

"Tim, it's alright, they aren't planning on doing anything to me," Leigh says as she runs her fingertips gently across the back of my hand.

"You're sure?" I demand.

"You honestly think they'd be letting me sit in here talking to you if they were going to charge me for what happened to Shaun? They're just waiting for him to be well enough to take him out of here and down the station. That detective was pretty kind, all things considered. He said it was plain it was self-defence, that they knew what type of man Shaun was, and that there's no way they'd charge me; that they'd get laughed out if court if they did, 'cause it'd be obvious to everyone I wouldn't have had no chance trying to fight off someone the size of Shaun Crawford. And then they've got that pipe he was hitting you with; they think it's the same he used on that other guy, Harris. But none of that makes me feel a whole lot better. 'Cause no matter what anyone says I'm still responsible for what happened to him—even if I would do again, if it meant you'd be okay."

Leigh glances away, wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and the pair of us sit here, neither of us saying a word. Find myself wondering if things will ever be the same again; 'cause despite her saying she doesn't want to lose me, it still feels a hell of a lot like everyone was right about me. That all I've succeeded in doing is ruining her life as well as my own.

She glances up at me, more composed now as she speaks. "But I didn't come here to talk about Shaun Crawford, not really. I...there's something I need to tell you, Tim. It's why I was coming over to the house in the first place."

"Oh, God," I mutter, "what are you trying to say to me, Leigh? I know I've screwed up, but I ain't prepared to lose you without a fight."

"Think that's half the problem though, don't you? 'Cause it seems like all you've been interested in lately is the fight, running around and getting caught up in God knows what trouble. I love you, Tim, and I've missed you like you wouldn't believe this past few days. But what's to say that in another few months, when all this has settled down, that you won't be bored again; that you won't be off looking for something more exciting than I can give you? Something better than being stuck at home doing the same as everyone else. When really, all I need is you to actually want to be here for us."

I stare at her, eyes wide, as her words sink in. "Us?" I whisper.

She nods at me, folds her arms and looks away.

Shit. Out of all the things I'd imagined she might say, this was never among them. I want to hold her, hug her, tell her everything will be all right. But I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

"You're sure?" I ask, still not really believing that this thing she—hell, both of us—wanted so bad, might finally have happened. Right now, when just about everything else in my life has gone to shit. And it all feels too much, like someone somewhere is laughing at me.

"Yeah. I mean, it hadn't even really crossed my mind, what with everything else that's been going on just lately. But then on Monday Sylvia suggested I go see the doctor on account of me still feeling so sick and all. That's why I was coming to see you. To tell you. And to see if we could maybe work things out, if there was any hope we could be a family again." Leigh quickly rubs at her eyes, then wraps her sweater tighter around her as she stares at me. "Tim, will you say something, please? Are you even listening to a word I'm saying?"

I try to reply but my words stick in my throat and my head spins, filled with a hundred and one confused and tangled images. _Shaun laughing, blood on his hands, his face; Leigh stumbling, the crack of the gun echoing over and over...and then somehow I'm a kid again, standing on the front porch of her house, as her old man glares at me, the expression in his face telling me all I need to know, that he don't think I'll ever be good enough for her...Leigh walking away from me in the parking lot of Buck's, the visitors hall at McAlester, running from my car with tears streaking her face, as I screw things up time and again...Ma just sitting there, not saying one word in my defence while Harry laughs and shouts and tells me yet again how I'm no good, just like my old man was...Curly and Ange expecting me to have all the answers, to handle everything, when I'm only a kid still myself..._

So how in hell can I be what she needs, or take care of a family, when I can't even look after myself?

And it seems she takes my stunned silence as disinterest—or disappointment; because she's crying properly now, her shoulders shaking as she struggles to speak. "You're mad, aren't you? I knew you would be; that you wouldn't be happy about it. Everything's such a mess, I should just go."

But before I can answer the nurse stalks back into the room, fiddles again with the drip as she smiles at the pair of us. "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are nearly over."

Leigh nods at her as she retreats across the room. "It's alright, I was just leaving anyway." Pausing at the foot of the bed she turns to look at me. "I'm sorry, Tim, really I am. I never wanted it to end up like this."

"Wait, What d'you mean?" I ask. "Surely you ain't telling me this is it? You can't be walking away, not now?" Pushing myself upright, I ignore the stabbing pain in my head and the nurse's protest for me to lie still; swing my legs over the edge of the bed and reach out for Leigh, manage to catch a hold of her hand.

"Please, Tim. Don't make this any harder than it already is," she sobs. "Think your reaction says it all, don't you? But I ain't gonna make you do nothing you don't want to, 'cause that'd be so much worse, to have you end up hating me."

"Mr Shepard, please—" the nurse starts up as she bustles towards me, giving Leigh the opportunity to snatch her hand away as she makes for the door.

"Listen, can you give us a minute?" I snap at the nurse, before turning back to Leigh, try to find the words she needs to hear. "Leigh, wait. I ain't mad. Least not at you. I'm just so goddamned angry at myself, for being so lousy and letting you down, again. So I get it, if you're done with me. But I want this as much as you do, I promise."

Her eyes are still shining with tears, but at least she smiles at me, just a little, as she edges back towards me. Makes me imagine there's some tiny glimmer of hope that we can maybe work this out.

"Do you mean it? You really are happy about this?"

Ignoring the dull ache in my shoulders and how much the room is sliding in and out of focus, I get to my feet, grateful that she lets me slip my arms around her. And for a few seconds I just hold her close, pretend that everything's fine as I tell myself I can be the man she needs me to be, then kiss the top of her head. "Yeah, course I am. And if you give me another chance then I ever won't let you down again."

oOo

Parking in front of the house I bound up the front steps and down the hall, loiter in the bedroom doorway for a few seconds, just watching as Leigh reads from the book, while our son laughs and chatters, points at the colourful pictures, endlessly amazed by how happy he sounds. Don't ever remember things being like that when I was a kid. Not in our house anyway.

"Hey, you're home early." Leigh smiles up at me as I cross the room, and settle myself on the edge of the bed beside her, lean in to kiss her. "Thought you were going for a beer with the guys after work?"

I shrug at her, smiling as my boy launches himself at me, envelops me in a hug. "Nah, didn't fancy it."

And why would I? Not when I've got everything I need right here—with Leigh, with my family—where I belong.

 **THE END**

* * *

A/N: I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who's read to the end, followed, or favourited. And an even bigger thank you to everyone who's reviewed/pm'd me about this story, I appreciate all of your feedback so much :) I hope you've enjoyed reading this story and liked how it turned out—after writing so many Tim fics over the last couple of years, I kind of wanted to end on a positive!

Thanks again for all your interest and support with my Outsiders fics :)


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